Give Us A Chance
by Kat Rojo
Summary: It's been 6 months since Sherlock's return into John's life and everything seems perfectly normal. But Sherlock's been hiding a secret from John that he may not be able to hide any longer...
1. Chapter 1

**Hi all! Thank you for clicking! This is my first try at a Johnlock fic, so please, any reviews are welcomed and appreciated!  
All characters belong to BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle blah blah blah... thanks again!**

* * *

_Baker Street. Come quickly – SH_

John sighed and looked up at Lestrade who was sipping his beer.  
"Sherlock?" He asked, putting the glass back down, although by his tone John knew it was rhetorical.  
"Yeah. Sorry Greg, I'll have to take a raincheck on the pub crawl. Perhaps next week? When Sherlock isn't all hyped up on a case?" John asked, smiling.  
Lestrade smiled back, "Of course. Night John, and don't forget to not get yourselves into any trouble."  
John slipped his jacket on and chuckled. "Can't promise anything." He replied, paying for the round before walking out of the bar. The night air gave him a bit of a chill, so he tightened his jacket around his neck and carried onward to his flat.

When he arrived though, he wasn't happy.

"Sherlock…" John sighed pinching the bridge of his nose, hearing the sound of the kettle ring.  
Sherlock, sitting in his usual chair with his legs crossed and hands beneath his chin smiled up at John and nudged his head towards the kitchen. "Just in time."  
"I hope you have a lead and didn't just text me to make you tea." John said, hanging up his jacket.  
Sherlock remained silent, looking over John as if trying to deduce him.  
"Stop it." John demanded. "I'll make you your bloody tea." He said, storming into the kitchen.

As he was placing sugar in the tea, he was aware of Sherlock's presence behind him.  
He could always feel when the lanky detective stood over him; it was slightly eerie. He refused to acknowledge him, stirring the tea in silence.  
"Problem?" Sherlock asked. "Can't I message my flat mate asking for tea and company?" Alright, now he's asking for it.  
"Sherlock…" John said, spinning around to face him, realising how actually close Sherlock was with a gasp.  
"You…you can't just message me to 'come quickly' just because you want tea! It's rude and it's selfish!"  
Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. "Selfish?"  
"Yes, selfish." John said, standing his ground. "Believe it or not the whole bloody world doesn't revolve around you." He said, taking one cup of tea and walking past Sherlock and into the sitting room. He slumped on the couch and sighed, taking a slow sip of his tea and placing it on the coffee table before sitting back and closing his eyes.

"Drinks with Lestrade again I presume. Sorry I _interrupted._" Sherlock spat bitterly.

John opened his eyes in shock. _Jealousy? _No, surely not. But what then?  
Sherlock grabbed his violin and began hacking away at it with his bow, making terrible screeching noises as he looked out the window.  
"Right." John said, standing up quickly. As he did he felt a little woozy, so he took a deep breath. "I'm not dealing with this tonight, I'm going to bed."  
He picked up his tea and proceeded to head up the stairs to his room, noticing the sudden silence downstairs. John closed his bedroom door, placed the tea on his bedside table and flopped onto his bed.

* * *

When John descended the stairs the next morning, he found Sherlock where he had left him the night before. He was still in his pyjamas, violin and bow still in his hands, with arms dangling at his sides as he was staring out the window dazed. Mycroft had warned John previously about Sherlock's 'Danger Nights', but John had completely overlooked Sherlock's need for company. He felt rotten.

"Sherlock?" He asked quietly. Sherlock's gaze jolted up to look at John, his expression blank.  
He didn't utter a word.  
John slowly walked across to him and gently eased the violin and bow from his hands, placing them on the chair before turning back to him. His gaze was fixed back to the window.  
"What is it about him, John?" Sherlock asks.  
John ponders in silence, but comes up with nothing. "About… the killer?"  
Sherlock doesn't answer for a while, then asks,  
"What does he have that makes you leave the flat in need of his company?"  
It doesn't take too long for John to put the pieces together. Sherlock turns around.  
"What does _he_ have that I don't?"  
John shakes his head incredulously at him. "Nothing, Sherlock."  
"Then why do you constantly meet up with him? It's been every Thursday for 5 weeks in a row."  
John can't believe his ears. So he _was_ right the night before. It was jealousy.  
"Because he's my friend."  
"_I'm_ your friend."  
"Yes, but you're not my _only_ friend Sherlock…"  
Sherlock turned back to the window and sighed.  
"Look," John began, "I spend time with Lestrade once a week, okay? I also seem to spend every minute of every other day spending time with you…"  
Sherlock remained silent.  
"Sherlock, you _know_ you're my best friend."  
Sherlock grunts angrily, looking up at the ceiling.  
"What if he wants more John?" He asks, frustrated, turning back to him.  
John is a little thrown. "Hold on, _more?_ Sher- we're friends! And… Jesus Sherlock he's married!"  
"So no?"  
"Absolutely not! No! Never!"  
Sherlock's eyes squint slightly, then they suddenly seem dark. He moves closer to John, staring down at him.  
"What if _I_ want more?"  
John's breath catches in his throat. Sherlock is dangerously close now, staring at him like his prey. "Sherlock?" John asks, taking a step backwards.  
"I _asked, _what if _I_ want more?" he repeated slowly, in a low husky tone. John felt a shiver go down his spine.  
He felt like he was about to be attacked. He had never had anyone look at him in that way before with… well John didn't know any other way to describe it other than _lust.  
_The feeling was intoxicating.  
Nervous, John took another step backward. Sherlock inched closer once again.  
"What if I want _all_ of you John?" He said, eyes flickering to the others mouth, "What if I want to kiss you, touch you…taste you…"  
John moved backwards till his legs hit the back of Sherlock's chair, almost falling over. Sherlock moved forward one last time and gripped the chair on either side of John, confining him there. "…to _own_ you."  
"Sherlock…I…I…" John said, then pushed Sherlock back. "I need some air!" John exclaimed, practically running up the stairs and to his room.

_Air he said. What he meant was 'space'. The air had become so unbelievably thick that it was hard to breathe, hard to think. _

John sat on his bed, head in his hands thinking. What was Sherlock _doing_? They were best friends and look, _fine_, he's pretty hard to find _unattractive_, but regardless John had never thought that anything could happen between them. Sherlock has never dated, well as long as they've been friends at least and John well, he didn't really find men attractive. Hell he'd been surrounded by soldiers for 4 years of his life and not _one_ person had made him _feel_anything. But Sherlock, well… he was Sherlock.

That didn't mean that this was a good idea.

They were good friends, fantastic friends. They complimented each other in every way.  
Peanut butter and Jelly, salt and pepper, scones and jam, fire and ice, mind and heart.  
They've lived together for so long, and never had a serious argument… well, apart from when he showed up three years after his 'death'. That wasn't pleasant. It seemed though that they had picked up right where they left off, and it's only been 6 months since. They couldn't keep being mad at each other because each one was infinitely happier with the other around. Maybe that meant they _could_be more? And what if it didn't work out? Could they work past it?

Suddenly, John heard something slip under his bedroom door. A note.  
As John picked it up, he heard footsteps going down the stairs and the front door closing.  
Sherlock was gone then? For good? John felt panic rise within him as he opened the note.

_John, _

_I apologise for my abrupt and rather distasteful actions towards you earlier. I find it rather difficult to convey emotions John, as you well know, and having not slept in 3 days made it even more difficult. Nevertheless, I should never have acted in such a way. You are my best friend John, my only friend, and before I go any further I want you to know that you are exceptionally important to me John. So much so that I've tried to ignore these 'emotions' and lock them away in the recesses of my mind, but I cannot any longer.  
When you're around me I feel somewhat complete, like everything is perfect once you're there.  
I don't like admitting fear John, but that is exactly what I am feeling. I don't know what to do. I am lost John, and I need you to help find me. I realise that this may come as a shock to you and that dating someone of the same gender is something you may never have considered before, but all I am asking is for you to let us try._

_Give me a chance John, give us a chance._

_I'll be gone for quite some time, but I would like it very much if you would join me for dinner tonight at 7. Angelo's. Consider it our first date._

_Sherlock_

John smiled. He had never received such a beautiful letter in all his life, and he had quite a few years on him. Sure he had written letters to his girlfriends before, vows of love and soppy poems with dreadful rhymes, but none of them were like _this._This… open and honest. It was really quite flattering. Perhaps he should have gotten Sherlock to write letters for him. No. That's not right. If Sherlock loved him, asking him to write letters to his girlfriends would be cruel. No, now Sherlock was the one that would be receiving his lame letters.

The previous thought hit him. Did that mean he was going to do it?  
_Give us a chance. _The words rang again and again in his head, swimming and making him dizzy.  
He felt a throbbing in his heart and goosebumps on his skin. He hadn't felt like that in a long, long time. John knew that regardless of how he felt _now_ about dating Sherlock, he would give him a chance. How could he not? Sherlock had fixed him. '_Then broke me, but eventually fixed me again..._' John thought.  
All he knew was that he didn't want to spend the rest of his life without Sherlock. He had experienced that life before, and didn't want to ever go back to it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much to those who reviewed, added to favorites and added alerts! You don't know how much it means to me! 3**

**I'm hoping that I will not disappoint with this chapter and that you continue to read!**

* * *

_It's 7:05 John. It takes 5 minutes to get from the flat to Angelo's, so even if you had left on the agreed time we were supposed to MEET, you would be here. – SH_

_10 past, John. In receiving the previous text you would have realised you were late and ran here.  
That would have taken you 3 minutes. – SH_

_20 minutes late John. I'm getting weird looks from around the restaurant. The candle on the table is close to burning out. – SH_

_You could at least reply, John. I understand if you don't feel the same, but at least reply so I know you're not dead. – SH_

_Or leaving. – SH_

_Please don't leave John. I'm sorry, I can still make it work. It'll be exactly the same as before. – SH_

_I'll never bring it up again. It never happened. – SH_

_Please just don't leave. – SH_

_John - SH_

John awoke to the last message and gasped. It was getting close to 8:00 and Sherlock's frantic messages broke John's heart. He didn't even remember falling asleep but there he was, in the sitting room, lying on the couch with Sherlock's letter. He had been reading it and re-reading it, loving the way certain words made his heart leap and the way his handwriting was beautifully elegant and flowed from one letter to the next.

But now was not the time to dwell on Sherlock's letter, he had to get to Sherlock and fast.

John grabbed his coat and the nearest pair of shoes, not bothering to tie them up before running out the door. It was only a minute of running when John realised he had left his phone at home, which was stupid. What if he got there and Sherlock had left? Was he going to scamper around London looking for him? Sherlock could go anywhere, honestly, especially with his brother's ID.

Luckily, by the time John got to Angelo's, he saw Sherlock stepping out and tightening his scarf around him. John had never seen him look so… _miserable_.

"Sherlock!" John shouted, running up the street, dodging a cab in the process. Sherlock turned and sighed, taking a step in John direction, not seeing him.

John finally reached him and grabbed his shoulders, shocking Sherlock for a moment while John leaned on him slightly, catching his breath.  
"Sherlock! I'm sorry!" He said, inhaling a deep breath.

Sherlock's eyes widened for a moment, and then softened back to sadness. He didn't understand.

John grabbed Sherlock by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him closer, body against body, before giving him a quick, chaste kiss.  
Moving back and looking up at Sherlock, he saw Sherlock's eyes wide with shock.

"I'm sorry." John repeated, "I fell asleep reading your letter. I didn't hear…"

But before John could say any more, Sherlock grabbed John's face and hauled it towards his own, kissing him passionately. John was so surprised he was unable to think, but luckily by sheer instinct, he threaded his fingers through Sherlock's hair, pulling him closer. Feeling Sherlock's lips against his own simply felt… right. The softness of those lips against his own, the pressure, the _longing_.

Why had it taken this long? He knew in his heart that he wanted to be with Sherlock, but didn't know how long he'd hid that part from himself. John felt heat brush up his spine all the way to his neck, making him moan into their kiss, his tongue darting out slightly and licking along Sherlock's lips, trying to part them. He could feel vibrations humming against his mouth from deep within Sherlock's throat, hearing him moan. He felt his whole body being pulled closer for a moment before being pushed up against the window of the restaurant, accidentally sliding down against it. But Sherlock tightened his hold around John and pulled him up slightly, their bodies rubbing against each other in an inappropriate fashion.

Suddenly, a loud knock from the window behind startled them. John looked over his shoulder to find Angelo laughing for a moment before shouting, "Go home you two! You're making a scene!" John chuckled before turning back around to see Sherlock's smirk. He looked back down at John, grabbed his hand led them both back home.

* * *

"Did you want me to make you anything? We still haven't eaten." John smiled, hanging his coat up after Sherlock.

Sherlock turned around and pushed John against the wall, continuing where they left off.  
"I don't need food… I need _you._" He said, kissing behind John's ear gently and slowly kissing lower.

"Sherlock…" John tried, but his words faltered when he reached that soft spot on his neck that made him shiver. Sherlock must have noticed, because he began sucking that spot, nibbling at it until John's knees couldn't take it any longer as he grabbed onto Sherlock's shoulders.

Sherlock moved back and smiled at John. "I'm becoming increasingly better at this, wouldn't you say?" He said with a smirk splayed across his face, then started sucking again.

John chuckled and nodded, "Well… I'm not sure how you could get any better at this but… Sherlock… Sherlock look at me…"

And he did, smiling like an idiot as he waited for John to say what he needed.

"I _love_what we're doing right now Sherlock, but I don't want to go from 0 to 100 all in a day."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, his smile shadowed by confusion. John sighed.

"You just told me you have feelings for me and now we're… well I don't know what we're doing but I _certainly_know what it leads to. We should slow down a bit, that's all." John smiled, stroking Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock smiled once again and nodded.

"I understand John, but I am merely kissing you. I don't intend for us to go any further than that. At least not _tonight._" He said in his deep voice, making John force himself to remember how to breathe. Sherlock paused for a moment in contemplation, "Does this mean you'll stop dating?"

"Just you." John smiled.

Sherlock smirked. "Good." He said, giving John a quick kiss. "Now, how about some tea?"

John looked shocked. "You're… going to make me tea?"

With a wave of a hand, Sherlock replied, "No, I was asking you to make it."

John laughed. "Nothing much is going to change is it?"

Sherlock seemed confused. "Of course it will. There'll be a lot more kissing and inappropriate touching… and then of course we'll…"

John gently pressed his hand to Sherlock's mouth, making him finally stop talking. "That's not what I meant, but never mind. Go sit down and I'll make us some tea."

John walked over to the kitchen and filled the kettle, placing it on the dock and flipping the switch. It was when he was grabbing the mugs that he felt Sherlock hovering over him.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm making tea, like you asked." John replied, slightly confused.

"Mmhmm…" Sherlock hummed, still watching. It was making John slightly uncomfortable. He placed the tea bags in the mugs and poured the boiling water in. He turned slightly to grab the milk from the fridge, but Sherlock was already next to him, placing the milk on the counter.

"Oh… thank you." John smiled awkwardly. Sherlock grinned widely back.

After he was done adding sugar and stirring the tea, the milk was gone, but Sherlock wasn't. He was still watching John intently. He nudged one of the mugs towards Sherlock. "Here you go." He said, then picked up his own and walked towards the sitting room. He sat in his usual chair and began sipping away at his tea as Sherlock came in with his and stood in front of John, staring. John looked up and they both watched each other for a moment.

"Err… something wrong Sherlock?"

"You're sitting in your usual chair."

"Yes…" John replied slowly, raising his eyebrows. Sherlock blinked.

"But…" He began, looking over at the couch then back at John. "If you sit on the couch, we can sit together."

John gives a chuckle and gets up, moving over to the couch and sitting down. Sherlock sat down next to him, smiling and sipping his tea. They sat there in absolute silence for what seemed like a long time until Sherlock placed his mug on the table and turned to John.

"What was your first sexual encounter with a woman?"

John accidentally choked on the tea he had in his mouth. "What!"

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "It's a perfectly normal question John, especially from a partner."

It felt so weird hearing Sherlock say 'partner', especially since it hadn't even been an hour since they first kissed.  
John thought for a moment before responding.

"I was 15, and I was at my friend's party. Everyone from our year was there including this girl, Sandra, who had told me a few days before that she liked me."  
John smiled, rubbing a kink in his neck. "Anyway, she grabbed my hand and led me to my friends bedroom closet and she…" He paused, looking at Sherlock.  
He wasn't sure how blunt he should be.

"She had sex with you?" Sherlock asked curiously, grabbing his mug and taking another sip.

"No." John shook his head. "She gave me a blow job."

He could see Sherlock's cheeks slightly blush. "I see."

Before John could ask Sherlock, he had another question. "How about with a man?"

"Err…" John tried, thinking for a moment. "About 45 minutes ago."

At this, Sherlock smirked. "Ah, so I'll be your first." John nodded, avoiding the heated look Sherlock was giving him.

"Yes." He agreed.

"Not to worry John, I've had some experience with men. It shouldn't be hard at all to guide you."

John nodded casually before realising what Sherlock said. "Wait, you _what_?"

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. "I told you that women weren't my area. I thought you understood?"

"Oh…" John whispered, remembering the conversation. "But… Irene Adler?" John noticed Sherlock stiffen in his chair, focusing on a fixed spot on the floor.

He understood. "So, she was your exception?" He asked.

Sherlock finally returned eye contact, "That… was different."

Different? John asked himself. As in, '_I had deep feelings for her'_ different? So they _had_ slept together. John felt an ugly feeling deep within his chest. It kind of hurt. He didn't like that woman at all, especially at the thought of her touching Sherlock in any way. Especially _that_way. He tried to hide his feelings.

"Alright." He said, standing up and collecting both his and Sherlock's mugs, taking them to the kitchen.  
When he returned, Sherlock was standing in the middle of the room looking nervous.

"Have I said something to upset you?" Sherlock asked.

John shook his head and gave Sherlock the best smile he could. "No. Of course not."

Sherlock walked over to John and placed his hands on John's cheeks. "Our past doesn't matter John. What matters is our future. Can we agree on that?"

John nods and leans forward, kissing Sherlock. "Agreed, but no more questions."

Sherlock's eyes are still closed from the kiss, but they open suddenly with curiosity. "Why not?"

John sighs. "The past doesn't matter, right? So let's not talk about it. And, I'd rather not think about it to be honest."

Sherlock stares for a moment. "Jealousy?" He asks.

John sighs. "Yes, jealousy. Look, I just don't want to know. Do you want me to tell you about my last girlfriend and how far we got?" Sherlock's eyes squinted.

"Oh _that_boorish idiot." He said bitterly. "You're lucky she even knew how to tie her shoelaces."

"Sherlock…" John warned pinching the bridge of his nose. Sherlock realised his jealousy and chuckled.

"Alright. No more questions, apart from one... can we sleep in my bed tonight?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey everyone! I've tried to put a little smut in here for you guys, hope you enjoy it! Should have the next chapter by the end of next week, pretty sure I know which direction I'm taking this but all I'll say is, something evil this way comes! (Perhaps not _evil_, but certainly not on the side of the angels _ifyougetwhatImean_)**

**Please review! Constructive criticism is needed and appreciated!**

* * *

John slowly yawned as he awoke the next morning, stretching out his arms and twiddling his toes.  
He hadn't had such a good sleep in a very long time, and wondered whether it was Sherlock's better mattress or the fact that he had someone sleeping beside him.  
He slowly smiled remembering the night before, cuddling with Sherlock as he fell asleep. He took a deep breath and sighed in contentment. He looked beside him and saw Sherlock with his elbow bent and resting his head on his hand, staring back at John.

"Morning." John smiled.

"Lestrade messaged. He has another case." Sherlock said, smiling back, "I decided to wait a little while. I knew you'd wake up."

"What about the case you were on?" John asked, slightly confused.

Sherlock dismissed the comment with a wave of a hand. "I solved it before you came home Thursday night. Why else did you think I asked you to come back? I was bored again."

"Oh." John thought aloud. "I thought it was because you were jealous."

Sherlock smirked. "Perhaps that too."

John laughed, then sat up and rubbed his eyes, beginning to stand before long slender arms wrapped around him from behind.

"Morning." Sherlock finally replied, kissing John's neck. John chuckled, his eyes closing slowly at the contact.

"I've been thinking…" Sherlock continued in between kisses, "…we should keep sleeping in the same bed. I believe it benefits both of us."

"Mm-hmm." Was all John could reply. Thinking was hard to do when his detective's lips were at his throat.

"You didn't stir during the night for once. I'm presuming it's due to the increased oxytocin released from sleeping with a partner. Also, even if I don't wish to sleep, having you within close proximity appears to soothe me."

"Well it's settled then." John turned, giving Sherlock a kiss on the lips. When John felt that it began to deepen and get more passionate, he mumbled against Sherlock's soft lips, "The case…"

Sherlock sighed and gave one final quick kiss. "Come on then, let's go."

They rushed out and caught a cab just like usual, except there were hands being held and secret smiles shared in the back seat. As they arrived, Sherlock got out and paid the driver, which was a shock for John seeing as he didn't do it often, or ever really. They then walked casually to the crime scene, a quiet side street, before taking a pair of gloves each and squatting beside a woman's body on either side as Sherlock looked over it.  
A mere 5 seconds after a brief overlook of the body, Sherlock said,

"It was her husband. Will that be all, Lestrade?"

"What?" Greg asked incredulously, looking between both Sherlock and John.

Sherlock rolled his eyes in abhorrence and then took a deep breath. John sighed. He knew where this was going.

"Her _hand_, look at it. It has a tan line where her wedding ring should be, but it's not there is it? No, it's in her jacket pocket, meaning that she took it off rather recently, last night in fact. Why would she take it off? Her hair and make-up indicate that she was going somewhere, most likely a date if she hid her ring and, as I'm sure, John can tell you the time of death…" He glanced at John who was kneeling by the body.

"Erm, yes. She's been dead for about eight hours, placing her death at about midnight, give or take."

"Precisely." Sherlock smiled, turning to Lestrade again. "Proving that it _was _most likely a date due to the time."

"So she was having an affair?" Greg asks. Sherlock began to sound absolutely exasperated.

"If she was having an affair, she would have left the ring somewhere safe, even in her handbag, for fear of losing it. I'd dare to venture that if you looked into it you'd find the couple had been separated for some time, most likely because of abuse going by the yellowed bruises on her thighs, which is why she would have left it to the last minute to take it off. Sentiment…"

John was once again amazed at Sherlock's ability to deduce, but it was different his time. Instead of simply wanting to shake the man's hand, he wanted to kiss him senseless. John shook the thought from his mind and continued to listen in amazement and wonder.

"…Now, the gunshot wound. Close range, in the heart, avoiding the face, meaning it was most likely someone she knew. Who else could get that close to her without alarm? Better yet, who would shoot a woman who was just on a date, yet is still to be divorced? An abusive husband perhaps? Also, you might want to find this man as soon as possible, he might go after the date next considering the weapon is missing. Will that be all?"

Greg stared amazed. It took him a moment to compose himself. "Um, we found her ID and know where she lived, but nobody else was there. I've got people searching her records for any family members."

"Hmmm. Perhaps her sister knows about the man she went out with last night. That will lead us to the whereabouts of her husband. Lestrade?" Sherlock asked, gesturing to a police car.

"Right… yeah. Okay let's go. Donovan, take care of this." He waved at his fellow colleague.

"I'll only be a short while, John. I'll be home soon." Sherlock whispered quietly, then turned and followed Lestrade.

"Sherlock!" John shouted. Sherlock halted and quickly turned around with raised eyebrows in questioning.

"Just… be careful. Don't do anything stupid." John frowned.

With a half-smile and a few quick strides, Sherlock was in front of John again. He held him by the shoulders and said, "Of course not. Lestrade will send off police to grab the perpetrator, not me."

John nodded. "Okay then, I'll be…" But before he could finish, Sherlock tilted his head and quickly kissed him, leaving half of Scotland Yard, as well as John and Lestrade, watching Sherlock as he walked back towards the car.

Lestrade smiled at John then turned to Sherlock. "About bloody time." Sherlock looked back in surprise, then managed a small smile.

"How do you know she has a sister?" Lestrade asked, opening the driver side door. Sherlock stared back at him, making Lestrade shake his head.

"Forget it. Don't want to know, let's just go." And with that, they drove away.

* * *

John spent the next few hours at home, sitting at the table and typing up their latest case on his blog, a cup of tea half-finished and turning cold beside him. Letter by letter as he typed, his mouth twisted in agitation.  
Why did it always take him so long? Between organizing his thoughts, typing them and editing them it truly was a day's worth of work. He was almost finished with his blog when he heard footsteps on the stairs, then the door suddenly opened and slammed shut.

He glanced up and saw Sherlock hanging up his coat, so he smiled then turned back to his laptop. "I'm just updating the blog, but when I'm finished I'm going to the shop. There's nothing in the fridge and we _really_ should eat Sherlock."

_No response._ John thought to himself, but brushed it off. John continued typing for a while until footsteps approached him and his laptop suddenly slammed shut.

"Look at me." Sherlock said slowly in a low, husky voice, "My _eyes_."

John looked up in confusion, which quickly turned into something else entirely.  
Sherlock's pupils were blown wide, his jaw was clenched and he was breathing heavily.  
John read all the signs and swallowed hard as he began to follow suit, feeling his heart beat rapidly within his chest. Sherlock threaded his hands into John's hair, tilting his head up, continuing to bore his eyes into John's.

"John." He whispered. John licked his lips, a nervous tick, making Sherlock's eyes blow even wider.

"_John._" He whispered again, his voice hoarse before finally, and in one swift movement, he leaned in and kissed him passionately.

All tongues and heavy breathing, John hungrily grabbed at Sherlock's waist, tugging him closer. Sherlock pulled their lips apart for a moment, resting a hand on John's shoulder before lifting a leg and straddling him on the chair. The sudden weight against him made John grunt. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock, who was already leaning down and forcing his lips back against John's.

After a few moments of fervent kissing, they both began to feel heavily aroused. Sherlock took a risk and pushed his hips against John, grinding their erections together. John froze.

Sherlock moved back slightly to see John's reaction, searching for any sign that said, '_No Sherlock, that's a bad idea'. _It never came.

John leaned forward and lightly bit Sherlock's lower lip, making him moan and close his eyes, feeling John's tongue slide along his top lip before invading his mouth once again.  
The hands on Sherlock's back lightly clawed their way down until they were at his hips, yanking him forward again. Sherlock's sharp intake of breath at the sudden pull quickly turned into a loud and ragged moan, which seemed to encourage John further. They began grinding against each other, their heads tilting back as they clung onto one another in desperation, searching for release.

As Sherlock felt the heat rise within him, he held Johns head in his hands, looking deep into his eyes. John understood the unspoken plea and tilted his head forward.

"Sherlock, we're still clothed…" He pleaded, trying to persuade him to stop or at least postpone for a few moments, but the sheer lust in Sherlock's eyes silenced any more protests.

He returned the fiery gaze and with a few more thrusts, Sherlock finally let go. John pushed against Sherlock a few more times before he joined him, both of them panting in unison.

Sherlock rested his head against John's shoulder when suddenly, the door opened. Sherlock quickly raised his head.

"I've brought you two some… Oh Sherlock, leave poor John alone." Mrs Hudson tisked as she held a platter with tea and scones, walking towards them and placing it on the table.

John and Sherlock both looked at each other incredulously.

"With all the experiments and violent violin playing at three in the morning, running around almost getting yourselves killed… now you're invading the poor man's personal space."

"Mrs Hudson…" Sherlock tried, but in vain.

"I don't know how you put up with it John. I mean, obviously you're a nice boy Sherlock but…"

"_Mrs Hudson!_" They both shouted. She jumped back in shock.

Sherlock spoke first, "Mrs Hudson," he said in a slow and smooth voice, "I am coming down from a _marvelous _orgasm, as is John, so if you wouldn't mind…" He smiled, gesturing to the door.

Mrs Hudson glanced between them both before a loud gasp. "Oh!" She said, quickly leaving the flat and closing the door behind her.

"Thank you for the scones and tea Mrs Hudson!" John shouted after her. Sherlock looked back at John and they both laughed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Just a quick thank you for all those who subscribed, reviewed and added to favourites! You guys are awesome!**  
**Also, apologies on taking to long to upload and not thanking for reviews personally, I'm having some computer trouble at the moment but it should be all fine... for now at least.  
**  
**This chapter has some _sexy_ bits, so if you're not interested in that kind of thing, just wait till the next chapter.**  
**Thanks again!**

* * *

Poor Mrs Hudson.

John scolded Sherlock for being so forward with her, but he couldn't stay mad at him, especially when Sherlock apologised and puckered his lips for an 'I forgive you' kiss.  
They both had _separate_ showers, separate only because John insisted that they were still taking things slowly.  
That didn't stop Sherlock from knocking on the door the whole time he was in there, making John giggle like a school girl.

_"Jo-o-hn!" _Sherlock cried out. No answer. "_Joooohn…_" He whined, hitting his head on the door. "We don't have to _do _anything! Just let me in!"

"No Sherlock." John replied between giggles, "You can't see me naked, not yet."

"What makes you think I haven't already?" Sherlock asked mischievously.

There was silence from inside the bathroom for a while, then Sherlock heard the water turn off.  
Another few moments and the door slowly opened and John's head poked out. He was frowning.  
"Sherlock..." He said, eyes narrowed. "Tell me you haven't."

Sherlock stared blankly. "Would you prefer a lie or the truth?"

John growled angrily.

"Alright I… _may _have seen you naked. Slightly. Once. Only once, and only from the back."

John's frown eased into a smirk. "Well, alright then." He said, then his head disappeared behind the door again.  
Sherlock tried to push his way into the bathroom but the door quickly closed on him.  
The door opened again later revealing John in fresh new clothes and he gestured Sherlock in. "All yours." He smiled.  
Sherlock smirked as his hand slid behind John's head and pulled his face towards him, hungrily kissing John's lips. Their tongues were trailing along each other, all passion and _fire _until Sherlock moved back slowly, leaving John speechless. He quickly squeezed John's arse and moved into the bathroom.

"Perhaps I'll see it again someday." He sighed contentedly, then pushed John out of the bathroom and closed the door.

John felt stunned, shocked and most of all… he had never felt so turned on in his life.

"_Sher-lock!_" He whined.

* * *

Later on, John walked downstairs and knocked on Mrs Hudson's door. When she opened it, she blushed instantly.

"I'm so sorry John. I didn't mean to intrude…"

"No, not at all Mrs Hudson. It was our fault, really. We should restrict it to the bedroom." John replied, immediately regretting even _mentioning_it.

"Oh there's no fun in that dear!" She giggled. John's mouth gaped open.

"Don't look at me like that John Watson! I may be an old lady now, but in my younger years I was no stranger to…"

"Stop… _no_. Thanks Mrs Hudson but, no. Thank you for understanding." He smiled.

"When did this happen? You've both seemed… normal?"

John chuckled. "Normal?"

"Well, the usual mischief the two of you get into. No lovey dovey stuff."

John shrugged. "I guess, it's been happening over time, but we started really _dating _last night."

Mrs Hudson smiled and hugged John. "Oh you boys. You're like family to me. I'm so happy!"

John laughed and hugged her back. "Thank you Mrs Hudson. I guess you can tell Mrs Turner you have _un-married _ones."

"For now." Came a voice from behind. They both turned around and saw Sherlock on the stairs, his hair still slightly wet, yet he was fully dressed.

John raised an eyebrow. "For _now_?"

"Yes John, un-married ones… _for now_." He returned, smiling before walking down the last two steps and opening his arms wide to Mrs Hudson. She smiled and walked into Sherlock's embrace.

"I'm so happy for you Sherlock." She said.

Sherlock moved back, hands resting on her shoulders before kissing her on the cheek. "So am I."

John rolled his eyes and laughed. Sherlock smiled softly at John and wrapped an arm around his waist. "I'm _very _happy. Can't say I deserve it, but I am."

"Don't be ridiculous Sherlock, you put bad men behind bars and save people's lives every day. Of course you deserve it." Mrs Hudson said, gently wiping a tear from her eye. "Now, you two go upstairs and eat those scones. I'll be here if you need anything." She said, waving them back upstairs.

"Thank you Mrs Hudson, likewise." John replied, Sherlock already dragging him to their flat.

John shut the door behind them and turned around to see Sherlock staring at him. "What?" John chuckled.

Sherlock simply shook his head. He looked… in awe.

John understood and placed a hand gently on Sherlock's cheek. "I know."

Sherlock shook his head again. "No, you don't."

He took John's hand from his face and brushed his knuckles gently with a kiss. He turned John's arm gently and kissed his wrist lightly, kissing next on his neck before he gave John a soft tender kiss. Sherlock mused for a while, finally resolving in saying the three words on his mind and in his heart.

"I love you."

John's throat began to constrict, feeling himself about to tear up at those words, but he held them back. This man, Sherlock Holmes, the man who hid himself away from the world, who detached himself from everyone emotionally because feelings weren't important, had finally let someone in… and it was _him_.

John swallowed hard before looking back into Sherlock's eyes. "I love you too, Sherlock."

Sherlock beamed manically and kissed him repeatedly, making John laugh.

"Alright, alright. I'll make a fresh brew of tea and we can see what's on telly."

* * *

The next few weeks were beyond John's expectations. Sherlock hadn't acted much differently than how he had before they were a couple, not in public anyway. Sometimes he would return to Baker Street and hang up his coat, completely normal, and then he would turn and see John, grab him, throw him onto the couch, lay on top and kiss him passionately. John liked those days. Other days they sat next to each other on the couch, Sherlock usually in his mind palace as John was on his laptop or watching telly.

John had begun acting a little differently though. One day when they went to a crime scene, Anderson was giving Sherlock the usual drivel, calling him a psychopath, muttering under his breath into Donovan's ear and giving him sideway glances.

"Do you have something else to say Anderson? Perhaps you'd like to do a little deducing of your own?" John snarled.

Sherlock was checking under the victim's fingernails, but stopped and looked over at John quizzically.

"Got any ideas who the killer is? How about the victim's background? Occupation? _Anything?_"

Anderson stood in shock and stumbled over his own words. "Well, um…" He sighed. "No."

"No. I didn't think so. So keep your bloody comments to yourself until you are right capable of _actually doing your job_." John frowned, crossing his arms in a huff. He was absolutely furious until he got a glimpse of Sherlock's face. It was still for a moment, expressionless, then slowly turned up into a knowing smirk. There was a _lot _of kissing that day and, because they felt it was time, a lot of touching too.

This day however, started a little abnormally.

"Mmm…" John murmured, slowly waking up. He felt amazingly relaxed, but also… not. His breath was hitching in his throat and he could feel his heart beating faster than normal, throbbing within his chest. He slowly noticed that something _else _was throbbing.

John was quite used to waking up with a morning glory, especially the times when Sherlock would be cuddled up against him, underneath John's arm. Sherlock always woke slowly (on the days he would actually sleep) and he would wake slightly, stretch and then wiggle closer against John, his bum gently causing friction against John's crotch. John didn't actually know whether he did that on purpose, just to rile him up, but on this morning, Sherlock wasn't beside him. John was confused for a moment until…

"A-aahh…" John suddenly heard, escaping from his own lips. He could feel the throbbing again, getting faster and feeling heat all over his body. His mind was slowly wrapping around the situation before he felt something warm and wet sliding along his cock.  
He looked down and saw a big lump under the blanket, slowly moving up.

"Sh-Sherlock?" He gasped.

He didn't reply vocally. Instead John suddenly felt a long slender finger rubbing behind his balls gently.

"Oh…OH! Oh god, Sherlock!" He howled, his back arching slightly. He was gasping, tension rising up along his spine. His eyes clenched closed, savouring the contact, then he felt Sherlock's lips, those beautiful succulent lips, envelop around the tip of his cock before taking him in entirely.

John was almost embarrassed at the sounds he was making. _Almost. _He was in too much ecstasy to really care, feeling Sherlock's tongue rolling around and up his length. He reached under the blanket and threaded his fingers in Sherlock's silky curls. Sweat formed on his brow as Sherlock began to go faster and deeper, John's other hand clenched the sheets below.

"Ohh..Sher-" He gasped. "Sherlock!"

_Ahhh…  
_  
They both froze. He knew that sound didn't come from him, nor Sherlock.  
No. He knew that sound all too well. John could feel his erection still throbbing, but suddenly he wasn't in the mood anymore.

_Adler.  
_  
Sherlock lifted up the blanket and stared at John intently. John stared blankly back.

"John…" Sherlock sighed, "Ignore it."

John shook his head. He knew he couldn't. Everything was perfect until _her_. "Better answer your phone."

Sherlock sighed angrily. "Fuck the phone!" He yelled, slamming his hand against the bed.

John stared. Sherlock's anger was, strangely enough, getting him back in the mood again, and Sherlock could tell.

"Actually, I'd rather get back to fucking _you._" Sherlock purred in his deep baritone voice, kissing down John's chest and disappearing under the covers again.

John closed his eyes as he felt Sherlock's hand directing his cock into his mouth when..

_Ahhh…_

John sighed.

"Fuck it!" Sherlock shouted from underneath the blanket. John massaged his brow in frustration as Sherlock threw the blanket off and jumped out of bed.  
He grabbed the phone, stalked over to window and without a moment's hesitation, opened it and threw it out.

John's jaw dropped. That phone was practically his lifeline and he simply… threw it.

"Now…" Sherlock huffed, getting back into bed and laying on top of John. He grabbed John's face and plastered a deep longing kiss against his lips, tracing the outline of them with his tongue.

"I'm going to make you come so hard you'll see stars… and _without interruption. _Do you understand?"

John's breath hitched as Sherlock's gaze began increasingly more intense. John smiled. "Yes sir."

"That's better, soldier." Sherlock smirked and nodded as he went back under the covers one last time.

John could feel Sherlock's tongue tantalizingly licking the tip of his cock slowly, lapping at the pre-come like a cat and taking his time, making John feverish with desire.

"Oh.._god._" John cried out, and Sherlock suddenly stopped. Then, without warning, John felt Sherlock gently sucking and licking his balls.

John's hands flew up as he grabbed his own hair, gripping onto his sanity. He couldn't take it much longer.

"_Please…_" John begged, arching his back.

Sherlock heeded John's pleas and finally took him into his mouth. The warmth made John moan and reach underneath the covers, massaging his fingers into Sherlock's scalp as he began to bob up and down, making him moan. He could also see that Sherlock's hand was between his legs, touching himself. He was about to protest, wanting to give something to Sherlock as well but he could feel it coming.

"Sherlock.. _oh god I'm gonna_…_Sher_-" John abruptly jerked upwards and called out the last syllable. He heard Sherlock moan loudly a few moments later before he crawled back up and fell into John's arms. They were both panting in unison for a short time before looking at one another and smiling.

John gently kissed Sherlock, trailing kisses from his forehead down to his mouth.  
"Well _that _was certainly a way to wake up." John chuckled against his lover's lips.

Sherlock smirked. "I knew if I asked first, you would overthink it and get nervous. So, I simply did it."

John laughed. "Always calculating. Perhaps I could… return the favour?" He asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Hmm…" Sherlock smiled and as they leaned in for another kiss, they heard a knock at their door.

They both grumbled and rolled their eyes.

They quickly got up, threw some clothes on and entered the sitting room, John moving over to open the door as Sherlock sat in his usual chair.

"Mycroft." John nodded, letting the tall man enter.

"Good morning John." He smiled so widely it was clearly fake. "I think this belongs to Sherlock." He said, holding out his hand, and in it was Sherlock's scratched phone.


	5. Chapter 5

**This is a bit of a short one, but I PROMISE the next one will be longer! Hope you guys still like it and reviews are still appreciated! xoxo  
**

* * *

John refused to touch the phone in Mycroft's hands, so instead he nodded and gestured for him to enter the flat.

As he walked in and sat opposite Sherlock in John's chair, he looked over his brother, then back to John.

"I apologise for getting the both of you out of bed so early, although _clearly_the both of you were awake. My belated congratulations." He smirked.

"Why are you here Mycroft?" Sherlock spat bitterly.

"You know why." He said, resting his umbrella against the chair before leaning over and passing Sherlock his phone.

"Adler." Sherlock replied.

John sat down in a chair by the table, just behind Sherlock. He felt like this conversation was private, but he didn't want to leave unless he was told.

"Perhaps some tea, John?" Mycroft asked, eyebrows raised.

"No." Sherlock growled. "He can hear this too. I've already told John that she assisted me in Paris."

Mycroft looked between the both of them, analysing the situation. "I see. Let me assure you John that when I told you Adler was dead, I myself believed it to be true."

John nodded. "I know. It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool you… and he did."

He felt a constricting pain within his chest in knowing that Sherlock had saved her life. But it didn't matter now.  
Sherlock loved John and John loved Sherlock. He repeated it in his mind like a mantra, trying to ease himself.

Mycroft grabbed the handle of his umbrella and twirled it side to side. "I'm assuming you didn't read what she sent you?"

Sherlock looked down at his badly scratched phone, which surprisingly still worked, and opened his messages.

_I'm back in London. Let's have dinner._

_How's John?_

Sherlock froze. "What is she doing here?"

John's head jolted up and looked at Mycroft, then Sherlock. "She's… where? In London?"

"Yes." Sherlock said, putting his phone on the table beside him. "But what do you want _me_to do about it?" He asked towards Mycroft.

"Nothing." Mycroft replied. "I simply thought it best that you hear it from me first."

John looked at Mycroft puzzled. "Wait, so you're just going to… let her back in? Just like that?"

"Of course not, John. He _needs _something from her, don't you Mycroft?" Sherlock taunted, steepling his fingers beneath his chin and sitting back in his chair.

Mycroft gave another unfeeling smile and watched his umbrella twirl beneath his fingers. "That's my business little brother, not yours."

"Then why are you here? To boast? Or to ask for aid?"

"Neither, I assure you. Issues such as these cannot be put into the hands of just _anyone_."

"To boast then."

"Now, now, Sherlock…"

"I have neither the time nor the inclination to deal with your petty squabbles. Leave."

Sherlock continued to stare as silence filled the room like a thick fog, making it unbearable for John to be between the brothers in the midst of their childish feud.

"Sherlock, I am merely warning you…" Mycroft paused, then turned to John. "May I speak to my brother in privacy for a moment?"

John nodded, smiled at Sherlock and went upstairs to his room. Although he was curious of what the brothers might discuss, he was glad to be away from the tension.

Once John was out of sight and hearing range, Sherlock turned back to Mycroft. "You know why I don't want her here."

"You're afraid of what she might tell John about Paris. I understand. Yet, do you realize that John might understand also?"

"I don't want to take that chance." Sherlock sighed. "To lose him would be… unthinkable."

Mycroft tried to crack a genuine smile. It _almost_worked. "I am happy for you brother, and this inconvenience will be short. Once it is over, you shall never hear from her again, I promise you that."

Sherlock sat back and smiled. "Perhaps I… and I mean, John and I, could be… _compensated_?"

Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes. "What did you have in mind?"

* * *

When John heard his name, he walked down the steps and met Mycroft, who then gestured for him to walk him out, but not without the sound of an exasperated sigh from Sherlock within the flat. At the door, Mycroft turned and stared for a moment, leaving John worried.

"Those three years apart, although they cannot be compared to the pain on your behalf, weren't easy on my brother either."

John looked away from Mycroft. He didn't like remembering those years. The memory alone could inflict the pain he had once felt. John looked back up at Mycroft and nodded.

"I remember him telling me one afternoon, that he had come to the realisation that he was much more human than he thought. He blamed you."

"_Blamed_me?" John asked, incredulous.

Mycroft made a small chuckle which sounded like a huff, an unusual sound for him to make.  
"Yes, but not in the way you think. He told me, when he purposefully sabotaged your dates, or when he got angry because you didn't come home for the night or even when he began playing music, only thinking of you, he somehow couldn't figure it out. But when your life was at stake, he finally realised. When hehad decided to save your life by ending his own, that was when he knew."

"Knew what?" John asked slowly.

"That he had let you in. That he had somehow managed to let himself love."

John exhaled a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "All that time." He whispered.

"Wouldn't shut up about you actually. Constantly asking if you were alright, if you had left the flat, if that Mary… _someone_had taken you back, if you had stopped drinking..."

"Alright, I get the point." John frowned.

Mycroft nodded. "My brother has waited a long time to return to you doctor, but an even longer time denying himself the ability to love. Please, try to the best of your abilities not to hurt him. He's insufferable enough as he is _now_."

John thought for a moment, processing all this information, then nodded.

Mycroft smiled, again with no emotion. "Good, good. I'm glad you understand. I best be off."

And with that, he turned and left the flat. John stood bewildered for a moment, thinking about how long Sherlock had feelings for him before he heard Sherlock call out his name.

"John?" He heard, he could tell from his tone that he wasn't happy.

John sighed and absently nodded, climbing the stairs to find Sherlock standing in the middle of the room with his arms crossed.

"Well? What did _he_have to say?" He asked, glaring at John.

Instead of waiting for an answer, he continued. "Warned you off I suppose? Told you that you could do better?" Sherlock's jaw clenched, letting out a big huff before he stormed into his room, still talking. John sighed and followed him in.

"And… _The Woman_. She'll come here and I don't want you talking to her at all…" He muttered, sliding back into bed and leaving a space for John to lie next to him.

John took off his jeans and laid beside Sherlock, staring at him. All of he and Mycroft's conversation came flooding back to him in a rush. All that time, those three years apart, John had a broken heart from the loss of a best friend and Sherlock was going through the same thing, if not worse.  
Sherlock loved John and John loved Sherlock. It rang as true as stating that the day was long.

He smiled gently and slid a hand behind Sherlock's head, resting the other at his waist. Sherlock was still ranting but suddenly stopped at the intimate hold John had him in. He gazed up at John, unsure of what he was doing, or what he was going to say, but suddenly he wasn't so angry anymore.  
John quietly chuckled at Sherlock's sudden silence and raised his hand to brush away a few loose strands of Sherlock's hair.

"I love you." He whispered, smiling. "I know I've told you that, but I really do."

Sherlock seemed unresponsive, staring back at John before he smiled and pulled John's face down for a kiss. Softly, sweetly, gently, they kissed for a few moments, stroking each other's cheek and smiling. John pulled back and smiled down at Sherlock.

"Don't worry. Everything will be fine, I promise."

Sherlock smiled and nodded back, threading his fingers through John's hair. "You won't leave?"

John sighed sadly, "Sherlock, I don't ever want to leave."

Sherlock's mood instantly changed, unexpectedly for John. "Well…" He began in his deep voice, pulling John's face closer to his own, "Perhaps you could prove it." He smirked.

"With pleasure." John smiled, taking Sherlock's lips with his own.


	6. Chapter 6

**God I feel so... _dirty _after writing this! So, while I go and have a shower you guys keep reading on. It's longer, like I promised, and it ended up being _wayyy_ sexier than I intended so I guess I... apologize?**

**As always reviews are welcome! (And please don't kill me for the end!)**

* * *

When it happened, John was blind sighted. Sure, he had expected it to happen, but the first week went by, then the second and still no word from Irene. John had begun to think she wasn't going to bother them after all. Well, John is used to being wrong all the time, but he hoped that just this time, just this once, he might be right.

We can't always get what we want.

It was late on Wednesday night, John had come back from a long day working at the clinic and found Sherlock asleep on the couch, curled into a ball and holding a pillow against his chest. John couldn't get over how beautiful Sherlock looked all the time, it was almost frustrating. Smiling, he placed a gentle kiss on Sherlock's forehead and turned towards the kitchen until he felt a gentle tug on his sleeve. He turned to find Sherlock, eyes still closed, with his mouth puckered for a kiss. John chuckled and bent over to kiss him, his whole body being pulled on top of Sherlock's as he did.

"Not like you to be sleeping in the afternoon." John chuckled.

"If I sleep in the afternoon, I can stay awake _later_." He smirked, giving him one last kiss as John was getting up.

"But what if I'm too tired?" John teased.

Sherlock's smile grew wider. "Oh I'll keep you up, don't you worry."

John chuckled and shook his head as he went into the kitchen to make himself a nice cup of tea. He turned on the kettle and looked in the fridge for any leftovers and groaned with what he found.

"Sherlock, I bought 2 bottles of milk yesterday and now there's only one! _And_it's almost finished!" He frowned, crossing his arms in front of him after going back to the sitting room.

Sherlock shrugged, now flipping through a book on his desk.

"How the _hell _did you use all that milk?"

"Experiment." Sherlock answered, not paying attention.

"Sherlock, you could have _told _me. I could have gotten some on the way back from work, now I have to go back out again!"

Sherlock stopped and looked up at John. "Go later."

"Later?"

"Opposite of soon."

"I know what it means Sherlock! I come home every day and make a cup of tea, you know that. You couldn't even go out and get some? Or at least tell me to?"

Sherlock shrugged. "There's still enough in there for a few more cups of tea."

John groaned. "Never mind I'll… go get more."

Sherlock closed the book and stood up, walking over to John and smiling apologetically. "Sorry John." He sighed, leaning in and kissing John's neck. "Let me make it up to you."

"Later. I'll be back soon." John smiled.

"No, _now_." Sherlock groaned, yanking on John's belt and lightly biting his neck.

"Sherlock!" John shrieked, although it was also _very_close to a moan. He gently pushed Sherlock back and found a weird expression on his face. He didn't quite understand it. "The shop'll close in a few hours. I'll be quick."

Sherlock let go of John and nodded. "Alright… but we also need jam, butter, bread, sugar and coffee."

"Okay…" John nodded slowly.

"Here, take my card, buy anything you want too." Sherlock said, grabbing his wallet from his back pocket and reaching for the card. John stopped him and raised an eyebrow.

"Sherlock, I think I can afford a few groceries."

"I insist." Sherlock smiled widely, handing the card to John.

John took it reluctantly and glanced back up at Sherlock. "Are you… alright?"

Sherlock nodded and sat back down at his desk, opening his laptop. "I'm fine. Take your time."

And he was going to. John was trying to find the only brand of butter Sherlock would use when he realised why he was acting so strangely. Sherlock missed John while he was at work and didn't want him to leave again. He smiled, picking up the butter and putting it in the basket and rushing to the check out. He didn't want to be away from Sherlock for too long, realising his mistake in leaving.

He smiled dumbly as he walked up the stairs, groceries in hand and opened the door.

And there she was. Irene Adler. She was wearing a tight fitting and ridiculously short black dress with killer red heels, resting a knee on one leg of the leather armchair and leaning over a very still Sherlock. John dropped the groceries with a smash.  
They both looked to John.

"Ah, Doctor Watson. Good to see you again. I see I've given you a fright." Irene smiled, leaning away from Sherlock slightly.

"Y-yes. Just a bit." John responded, then after a moment followed with, "Hello."

Irene turned back to Sherlock. "Oh he's cute isn't he? I had forgotten how lovely _both_of the Baker Street boys were."

John knelt down and picked up the bags and moved to the kitchen, placing them on the counter and rummaging through them to see what could be salvaged. The jam, one of the bottles of milk and even the jar of honey John had bought especially for Sherlock was ruined. He sighed and quickly started washing the jam and honey off the other bottle of milk, all the while listening intently to Sherlock and Irene's conversation, or lack thereof.

Sherlock looked up at Irene as she smiled down at him.

"So how about it?" She asked.

"I'd prefer you didn't." He replied.

"Really?" She asked. "Not even just for tonight?"

Another crash. John dropped the last bottle of milk. Sherlock tried to look around Irene to see John, but with a finger she turned his face back to hers.

"Just for tonight?" She asked again. "I need to be away from my hotel where… _certain people_can't find me." Sherlock internally groaned. He knew that regardless of what he said, she would do it anyway.

"Fine. My bedroom's in there." He said, nudging his head towards it. John couldn't believe his ears.

"Will you be joining me?" She asked, leaning further down, only centimetres away from his face.

"I won't be sleeping."

"Good." She smirked.

John gulped hard and stormed towards the door.

Sherlock watched John reach the door and asked, "Where are you going?"

"To bed." John shouted over his shoulder, climbing the stairs and slamming the bedroom door behind him.

"Bit of a jealous one, isn't he?" Irene giggled, finally standing up.

Sherlock sighed and stood also, straightening his jacket. "One night Irene, and then you will leave in the morning. Is that clear?"

"Ah Sherlock, you're so… gracious. Thank you." She murmured, leaning in and kissing Sherlock on the lips. Sherlock turned away in detestation. She made an evil chucking sound and wiped Sherlock's lips with her thumb before turning and moving to his bedroom.

He took a deep breath and looked towards the front door, hoping John wasn't too mad at him. He began to move towards it, but thought better of it and went to the bathroom first to wipe off the lipstick. He didn't want John getting the wrong idea.

* * *

_Knock knock knock._

"John? Are you asleep?"

John sighed quietly and ignored him, closing his eyes and trying to get to sleep, even though it was hopeless. He was furious.

"John?" Sherlock called again.

"Bugger off." John grumbled, burying his head in his pillow. But, of course, Sherlock Holmes never listened to him and he wasn't about to start now. He heard the door slowly open and close and then silence.

John could just _feel_Sherlock's stare. No, it wasn't going to work this time. He sighed and pulled the sheets all the way over his head.

"John…" Sherlock said again, this time in his deep husky tone he knew all too well.

He pulled down the covers and looked over his shoulder to find Sherlock's jacket already on the floor and his hands at his buttons, unbuttoning his shirt slowly.

He watched for a moment, Sherlock's shirt now completely open, but as Sherlock reached for his zipper, John spoke.

"You were so reluctant for me to go to the shop, but when I said I was going you handed me your card and told me to take my time."

Sherlock's hands stopped for a moment, then he visibly gulped and pushed them into his pockets.  
"I…"

"And you and I both know you didn't do an 'experiment' this afternoon. You emptied just enough so that I could have tea and go out to get more later." John said, sitting up and crossing his arms, leaning against the headboard. "You knew it was today. You _knew_, and I just stood there like an idiot taking it all in, thinking you missed me."

"I _did_ miss you."

"But that's not why you wanted me to stay. You wanted me to leave when it was _convenient _so that by the time I went to do the shopping and got home she was gone and I'd be none the wiser."

"I knew you'd be upset when she came."

"Well guess what Sherlock? I'm even _more _upset because you lied to me."

Sherlock sighed and looked down at his feet. "I'm sorry."

John shook his head. "No you're not." He laid back down and turned away from Sherlock again.

Sherlock's face fell. "But… I am. I thought I was doing it for the best but… I see I was wrong." He looked up and saw that John still wasn't acknowledging him, so he continued. "I slept all day thinking that after Irene left we could… I don't know… make love? You… don't want to anymore?"

John's heart gave him a harsh pang in the chest. He loved when Sherlock referred to sex as 'making love'. It was so sweet and it made John feel special to be able to share that with Sherlock. But Sherlock probably knew that.

"Why don't you go downstairs to Irene and 'not sleep'." John bickered back.

Sherlock took a deep breath and looked down at himself. He was half naked and practically giving himself to John, but John wouldn't have him. He felt sad, rejected and very _very _guilty. He thought for a moment and buttoned his shirt back up, kicked off his shoes and sat on the space next to John.

"We could talk if you'd like. About Irene." He finally said.

"No." John mumbled.

Sherlock, for once, didn't know what to do. So he just sat there, watching John fall to sleep.

* * *

John woke up unusually early. There was a dim light from the street lamp outside shining in through his window as dawn hadn't even broken yet. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his back before closing his eyes again.

"John?" He heard Sherlock ask, placing a hand on the big lump of blanket and pulling it towards him, making John lay on his back.

John looked up at Sherlock and frowned. "Have you been sitting there all night waiting for me to wake up?"

Sherlock nodded sheepishly.

John couldn't help but smile. "Come here you git." He said, pulling back the blankets.

Sherlock smiled and wriggled under the covers, both of them then wrapping their arms around each other.

"I don't understand." Sherlock began. "You know how much I love you, and I've said I'm sorry but I don't know what else to do. I… I'm _terrible _at this." He frowned.

John chuckled and shook his head. "It's alright, love. I should have known that you'd do something like this, hiding Irene's visit to try and save me from getting upset. I forgive you." He smiled, then leaned forward and gently kissed Sherlock's lips, but Sherlock pushed back harder and slid a hand down John's side.

"So, how about that shag?" Sherlock smirked.

John chuckled and kissed him again in agreement, rolling them both over so that he was on top. John sat back against Sherlock's thighs as he tugged his pyjama shirt off and over his head before slowly undoing Sherlock's. When John was done, he leant back down and took Sherlock's lips with his own, consuming him.

"John…John…" Sherlock moaned, placing a hand on John's cheek. "I want… I want you inside me. I want you to… _please John._"

John's heart sped up. He could barely speak with the pounding in his ears. "You want to… are you sure?" He asked. They had fooled around and had only just begun exploring each other's bodies, but Sherlock was finally biting the bullet. He'd finally asked it of John.

And John was nervous as hell.

"Sherlock, I've never…" He suddenly stopped. "Shit."

Sherlock's mind was hazy so he couldn't understand what was wrong. "What?"

John looked down at Sherlock and half smiled. "The lube is in _your _room."

Sherlock finally focused and frowned slightly. "You don't have any here?"

John shook his head.

Sherlock groaned. "Well I can't go downstairs, Irene's in there."

John thought for a moment and smiled. "We'll do it next time, I promise." He was partially relieved, but tried not to show it. "I can think of…_other _things we could do." He grinned, leaning down and kissing Sherlock again.

Sherlock grunted in protest as John's lips disappeared down his neck, chest and finally, he heard his pants unzip. Sherlock held his breath. His cock twitched just at the thought of what was to come. He felt his pants being tugged down his legs and heard them drop to the floor. He closed his eyes in anticipation and waited. And waited. And waited.

He looked underneath the covers and gasped as he could just barely make out the sight of a naked John looking back up at Sherlock with two of his fingers in his mouth. He watched as John moved closer and lifted Sherlock's left leg over his shoulder.

"Oh god John… you look so sexy… oh _god_!" He moaned, leaning his head back against the pillow, feeling John's finger circling against his entrance.

John smirked to himself and leaned down as he began to lick from the base of Sherlock's cock all the way up to the tip, making Sherlock squirm beneath him. "Oh…_fuck._" He heard Sherlock cry out, "You're so good at this, how are you… _oh god..._" John was slowly sliding one finger inside of him and then slowly back out, but not all the way.

Sherlock was biting his lip and grasping behind him at the headboard, latching on for dear life. "_More_." He begged, "I need _more _of you…" Then he pushed back down against John's hand, thrusting his finger deeper. He felt it sliding back out and then was joined by another. He could feel John kneeling up, lifting Sherlock's leg higher as he wrapped an arm around it and enveloped his fingers around Sherlock's length, stroking it gently at first, but then they gradually began to speed up.

John's erection was throbbing, and as he was thrusting his fingers deep inside of Sherlock, he realised he needed his own release, so he began gently rubbing his cock against the back of Sherlock's leg. He felt slightly better, moaning and tilting his head back at the sensation.

"John, I'm close…_oh god John!" _Sherlock cried out, pushing harder against John's hands. John quickly sped up his hand movements, stilling himself for a moment before Sherlock let go and came in his hand and on his own stomach. He gently slid his fingers out as he kissed Sherlock's inner thigh. Then, as the mood took him, he straddled Sherlock and began to lick away the come from his stomach, trailing his tongue up until it reached his mouth. Before John could kiss him, Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and sat up as he reached between them and began stroking John's length.

John grabbed Sherlock's face in his hands and ravaged his mouth as he was being worked to his climax. After he came and John's mind came to, he looked at Sherlock whose mouth was agape.

"What the.." Sherlock began, but needed to inhale a breath, "_hell _just happened?"

John chuckled, still catching his breath. "I don't really know."

"That was amazing!" Sherlock gasped, kissing John again and holding him closer, still in his lap.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's back and pushed them both down onto the bed as he laughed, "I know." When he rolled onto his back, Sherlock cuddled up against him and kissed his jawline.

John looked down at Sherlock and smiled. "I love you Sherlock, but try not to let any more of your ex's 'sleep over'."

Sherlock smiled half-heartedly and after a moment, he said, "She's not my ex."

John looked back in confusion. "Ex-lover? Fling?"

Sherlock looked away from him and picked up John's hand resting at his shoulder and kissed it.

"Sherlock?" John asked. "You said that she was different. She was the only girl that…"

"John." Sherlock chided. "She is of such little significance to me that she doesn't count. Not as a girlfriend, lover or otherwise. She was neither of those to me."

John thought for a moment. "But… you had sex with her?"

Sherlock looked up at John and they both stared at each other for the longest time before Sherlock sighed. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to tell you this, but I feel that I must..."

* * *

**DUNN DUNN DUNNN! Sorry guys but the next chapter will be up REALLY fast I promise!**

Thought I'd put this at the end you you're more likely to read it but...

**THANK YOU for sticking with this story this far guys, you're all amazing and I love you! **


	7. Chapter 7

**I told you it wouldn't be too long! I hope you guys like it! And thanks for the reviews Johnlockians! Love you all!**

* * *

It had been 2 years and 9 months since Sherlock's fall and he found himself in Paris, following the trail of Sebastian Moran. He only knew one person who could help him in that part of the world.

"I'm glad you're alive." Irene says, kissing Sherlock on the cheek and letting him into her house. "Although, I had a feeling you were."

"Hmm." Sherlock replied, not paying attention. "I need a favour."

"Of course. Why don't you sit down?" She said, gesturing to a beautiful red Victorian lounge in the sitting room.  
_Lounge, brand new, like most of the furniture. House is recently bought, not rented. No personal items, place of work also.  
_He nodded and sat down, not removing his coat.

Irene sat on a chair opposite and smiled."If I had known you were coming to visit I would have worn my battle dress."

"You don't seem like the kind of woman to wear the same thing twice." Sherlock countered, ignoring her blatant innuendo, he wasn't in the mood. He missed home so badly.

Irene sighed and leaned back. "Ahh, good old Sherlock. I've missed you. Now, what can I help with?"

"I need information. I've identified most of Moriarty's top men and had them… _dismissed_ from duty. Perhaps you could fill in the blanks."

Irene raised an eyebrow. "How many men?"

"10."

Irene's eyes widened. "And all of them just…"

"Dismissed." Sherlock said blankly. He didn't need to spell it out, she knew what he meant.

Irene paused for a moment, lost in thought before standing up and walking out of the room. She returned a short while later with a folder and handed it to Sherlock.  
"These are the men I worked with while under Moriarty's employ, I took the liberty of doing a little research. I'm not sure I have all the names, but I know they are the most dangerous ones."

Sherlock quickly browsed through the papers, throwing most of them on the floor. Irene understood it that the papers thrown were those already dealt with. She was impressed. All that remained were three sheets and on the top was the deadliest.

"Sebastian Moran." She said, "Moriarty's second in charge. He's…"

"Here in Paris. I am aware." He quipped. "It's why I'm here."

"I was hoping you came to give me a visit." She smiled, flirting. After realising Sherlock wasn't paying much attention, she continued. "The other two work directly for Moran. Wherever they are, he is."

Sherlock's head tilted up in thought for a moment, distant. "Thank you Irene. I'll leave you now. I have things to do, as I'm sure you do." He stood and walked towards the door before Irene caught up with him, opening it.

"Come and visit before you leave. I miss the London folk."

Sherlock nodded and with a swift turn, he left.

* * *

After another 2 months, two of the three men were dealt with. The only person that remained was Moran. He made the mistake of visiting Irene one last time before heading off to England. He found her in a dressing gown at 2:00 in the afternoon, just finishing with her client. After the man left, Sherlock sat down and told Irene how he had made a mistake, one he wouldn't usually make.

Moran had fled and he hadn't any idea where he would go.

"Does he know that it's you behind all this?" Irene asks.

"No. I'm almost certain he doesn't. A deal went awry a few months back, he thinks it's payback." Sherlock replied, sighing.

Irene smiled and sat next to Sherlock, crossing her legs and letting one slip out from beneath her gown. "What are you going to do next?" She asked.

"I'm going back to England. If Moran even has the slightest hint that it was me, John would be in danger once more. I'm not willing to take that chance."

"Ah, so a happy reunion is in store?" She asked, rubbing her foot along Sherlock's leg.

He turned to look at her sternly, giving her a visual warning. She didn't stop. Instead, she knelt on the couch and crawled towards Sherlock before kissing his neck. Sherlock's jaw tightened at the touch. He knew she had feelings for him (obviously) and he felt slightly guilty that he pretended to feel the same back in England, needing the upper hand on her.

Damn John, making him feel guilt and emotion like someone… _normal.  
_  
She notices his hesitance towards her and instantly realises why.

"Ahh…" She says, moving back and smirking. "You _are _a couple. You both just haven't realised it yet."

Sherlock hides his shock well, moving away from Irene slightly. "I haven't the faintest idea of what you're talking about."

"Yes you do." She smiles, placing a hand on his shoulder and leaning over to whisper in his ear. "You love him. You love John Watson."

Sherlock frowns and stands up, glaring back down at her.

"Oh Sherlock… dear, sweet Sherlock. Even the best of us have emotions…" She said, smiling triumphantly. "But love is a dangerous disadvantage."

"You would be the expert on that." He counters, looking away after a moment and walking to the door.

"Leaving so soon?" She asks, leaning back and letting her dressing gown flow open, revealing her lacy black underwear.

Sherlock turns around and sighs at her cheap attempt at seduction. "Yes. I must go back to London before…"

"…before John _dies_?"

"…before tonight. Mycroft is expecting me." He walks back towards the door, his hand on the doorknob before he hears,

"I wonder…" Irene muses out loud, standing up, "…how long it would take before Moran finds out that this is all _your _doing."

Sherlock stops in his tracks, listening.

"Perhaps he would like an anonymous tip. But then of course, what would happen to John?"

"No."

Sherlock turns around and glares at her. "If you so much as _think _about it, I'll make you regret it."

"That sounds promising." She smirks.

Sherlock becomes enraged and walks back over to Irene, grabbing her tightly by the wrist. She squirms in pain, shrinking down slightly.

"This isn't a joke Miss Adler. 12 men have been arrested and some even _murdered _by my hand. Don't for a second think that I won't add you to that list." Sherlock calms himself down, finally realising an important missing factor. "You don't even know where he is." He scoffs.

"Don't I?" She asks, glaring up at Sherlock.

He feels the breath being knocked out of him, taking a moment to compose himself. "Where is he?" He asks through clenched teeth.

Irene tisks at him. "Manners, Sherlock. You do for me, I do for you."

He stares for a moment before letting her hand go. She rubs her wrist, trying to numb the pain before Sherlock asks again. "Where is Moran?"

Irene trailed her fingers along Sherlock's jaw, then down his throat. "Wrong question."

Sherlock felt her fingers slowly trail lower, just below his waistline. He took a deep breath. "What do you want?"

Irene smiled up at him. "I should think that was _obvious_."

Her hands fumbled a bit with his belt, then they unzipped the fly on his pants.

He steadied her hands, holding them in front of him. He thought for a moment and wondered if this was a reasonable price to pay to ensure John's safety.  
He didn't want anything to do with Irene Adler, especially in _that_department. But more importantly, he loved John. He knew that now.

_So this would be like cheating, wouldn't it?_

Although they weren't a couple, Sherlock would be giving part of himself to Irene instead of the one he loved. Then again, the logical part of his brain told him it was just sex, it wouldn't mean anything and that he could assure John's safety. Of course, the logical side of his mind won the argument.

"How do I know you're not lying?" He asked.

She thought for a moment and replied, "Moran frequented a certain club in London while working for Moriarty. The owner of the club is… an old acquaintance. After you left the other night, I called and asked him to keep an eye out for me. Then, lo and behold, he rang a few nights ago claiming he had visited and was checked in for a few weeks."

Sherlock let go of her hands, staring blankly ahead before closing his eyes. He felt his trousers and pants falling to the floor and he took a deep breath. He heard a voice in his ear.

"I'll tell you the name of the club, what room he's in and what time he usually goes to his room. All you have to do…" She pauses and Sherlock gasps as she touches his shaft gently, "… is _me_."

She grabs his hand and pulls him along, pushing him down onto the couch before pulling off her robe and mounting him. Sherlock felt his heart racing, but not in excitement. He was nervous. Not of sex, he'd had sex before, though not with a woman. No, what he was doing felt wrong. It made him sick, but he closed his eyes and let Irene do what she wanted, feeling his clothes being taken off. It was a short while later that he felt the lack of movement. He opened his eyes and looked over at Irene who was taking her underwear completely off.

"I'm going to need a little _help_ Sherlock." She said bitterly. "If it's not good… if you don't _try…_" She hinted.

Sherlock stood up and removed what little was left of his clothes and pushed her onto the couch so that she was kneeling on it, back towards Sherlock, bending over and holding onto the back of the chair. Then, he leaned over and bit her shoulder. She screeched in both pain and surprise, tightening her hold on the chair. Sherlock then closed his eyes and continued to stroke himself, thinking…

* * *

"Sherlock!" John shouted, sitting up in bed. "I don't want to know the _details_!" He began rubbing his temples, trying to remove the image residing there. The thought made him feel ill.

Sherlock sat up also and sadly held out his hand for John to hold, needing the contact. John sighed and gave in, placing his hand on Sherlock's and gripping it slightly.  
"Sorry." He apologised. "But… I was just about to explain that… the whole time I thought of you."

John furrowed his brow, looking at their hands still. "That doesn't make me feel any better, Sher."

"Because you don't understand!" Sherlock pleaded. John looked up at him and his frown eased, seeing Sherlock's hurt expression.

"I… I couldn't…" He tried, thinking of how to word his feelings. He was never good at it. "I felt like I was cheating, John. We weren't together but, I loved you, even _then_. I felt terrible. Don't for a second think that it was easy for me, it wasn't. But I knew I had to it so I could protect you, so I could see you again. I had to keep my eyes closed, constantly thinking of you, pretending that it was you underneath me instead of her to keep..."

John felt heat rise up in his cheeks, thinking of him and Sherlock together, but he ignored it.

"So what you're saying is that you had to think of me to keep going?" John asked bluntly.

Sherlock's face twisted in thought, trying to deduce John's emotions. "That's… well I… yes."

John nodded and stood up from the bed, starting to put his clothes on.

"John… John, please don't leave. I had to. I needed to get to Moran so you would be safe! So I could come back to you! John I…" Sherlock tried to keep pleading but he found himself breathing unevenly, a tight feeling within his chest restricting him.

John finished getting dressed and turned around, looking at Sherlock who had his head in his hands. He could see how hard it was for Sherlock to tell him, worried that John would be so angry he would leave. The sight sobered him and as his mind finally cleared, he sat back on the bed and pulled Sherlock to him in an embrace, threading his fingers through his hair.

"Sherlock… I understand that you did it for me, for _us_, it's just hard for me to swallow. I'm the jealous type. I can't help that I'm angry, but I'm not really angry at you, just that it happened... angry at _her_."

Sherlock relaxed into John's touch and looked up for a moment, wrapping his arms around John. "You're not angry at me." He stated, realising.

John smiled. "No. You did it because you felt you had to, to protect me. It's… kind of touching that you would do something you disliked so much… for _me_. Though, I could hardly imagine there'd be many people who _wouldn't_want to sleep with Miss Adler."

Sherlock frowned at John. _John believed him, right?_ _Or worse, he didn't find her attractive, did he?_

As if John could read his thoughts, he added, "Of course, that's because not many people have a painfully attractive man such as yourself _completely_at their disposal." He smirked, kissing Sherlock's neck. He then placed a hand on Sherlock's cheek and kissed him gently for a short while, then smiled and kissed him repeatedly in succession.

They chuckled and as they stopped to look at one another, Sherlock suddenly looked down at John's pants.

"No…" John laughed, knowing what was going through Sherlock's mind. "I'm going to the shop, okay? I have to re-buy everything I dropped yesterday. I'll be back soon."

Sherlock's eyes widened. "You're leaving me _here_? With _her_?"

John thought for a moment, then grinned. "Yes. I trust you enough to be alone for half an hour."

Sherlock nodded and laid back down, arms crossed in front of him. "Okay, I'll wait till you get back."

John raised an eyebrow. "You're not leaving the room?"

"No."

"But… aren't you hungry?"

"No."

"Thirsty?"

"No-pe."

"You're just going to sit here and wait?"

"Obviously."

John thought for a moment, and smiled. "What if she comes upstairs?"

"I'll lock the door once you leave." Sherlock replied triumphantly.

John chuckled. "Alright fine, do what you want. Remember, if you need me, just message me." He said, then kissed Sherlock once more before leaving his room and descending the stairs.

Once he was outside and walking towards the shop, his phone beeped.

_But John, I always need you – SH_


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry that this chapter took so long but I've been busy going to job interviews and trials and stuff. Hopefully this will make up for it!**  
**Thanks again for sticking with the story & reviews are appreciated and wanted!**

* * *

When John came back later, he saw the bathroom door wide open and Irene inside, fixing her make-up.

She saw him look through the reflection of the mirror and smiled deviously at him. "Sleep well?" Irene asked.

John could sense a hint of playfulness. Perhaps she heard them this morning. He blushed scarlet. "Yes thanks. You?"

"Wonderfully." She replied in her erotically smooth tone.

John nodded and continued into the kitchen, putting away the shopping. Sherlock still wasn't out of bed, and John didn't expect him to be until he assured him Irene had left. He felt uncomfortable, not knowing what to say or do, especially because he didn't want to _say _anything. At first he was indifferent to Irene, but he despised her now, more than he had ever done so before.

John heard her heels slowly tapping against the floorboards, aware that she was now standing behind him, watching him make tea. "And the _sheets_." She continued. "They smell deliciously of him, don't you agree?"

John quickly glanced at Irene and caught her vaguely amused expression. She was playing him, and he knew it. "Well they _would_, wouldn't they?" He retorted with a blank face.

"Indeed." Irene smiled, walking around John and standing directly behind him, her lips gently grazing his right ear. "But also of _you_. And _sex." _She whispered.

He gulped down hard as his heartbeat began to quicken. He forced himself to regain composure, knowing full well that in reacting to her, he was letting her win. He moved away and reached for his and Sherlock's mugs. "Tea?" He asked casually.

"Love some." She smiled, walking back towards Sherlock's room.

John sighed and grabbed an extra mug, pouring the tea. He began stirring the sugar and milk, unintentionally overthinking about everything.

_Why did she need to stay here? How did Sherlock know she was coming? Was she flirting with both of them?_

All of a sudden, John jumped as he heard a loud slam. It hammered again and again, hollow thumps coming from Sherlock's bedroom. He ran down the narrow hallway and found the window open and slamming against its frame, with Irene nowhere in sight. John caught the window and pushed it open, looking down onto the alley way. She was gone.

"Couldn't use the bloody door like a normal person." John mumbled to himself.

"John?" He heard Sherlock call distantly.

"I'm downstairs." He shouted back, closing the window and turning to leave the room. He stopped and glanced at the bed, noticing a white piece of paper placed neatly on a pillow. He picked it up and frowned.

_Until next time,  
Irene Adler xo_

John huffed and walked out into the sitting room just as Sherlock was entering it, wrapped in his bed sheet. He glanced around the room. "Good. She's gone." He said, and then looked down at John's hand, but before he could ask, John handed the note to him.

Sherlock read it, frowning, before tearing it twice and throwing it behind him as if it were the dullest thing in the world. "Hmm… tea." He smiled with his expression suddenly cheery, walking past John and into the kitchen. Sherlock saw the third mug sitting on the bench and his lip curled as if in disgust before he grabbed it and threw it into the sink, taking his own and sitting at the kitchen table. "When did she leave?"

John chuckled quietly to himself at Sherlock's weird display of detestation of a third cup before following him in. "Just then. Out the window actually... and not without a few comments." He casually added.

Sherlock's head jolted up. "Like what?"

"That the sheets smell like you. And me. And sex. Actually, I think she might have heard us this morning."

Sherlock smirked as he grabbed the morning paper and began reading it.

John sighed and walked over to the counter and placed a few slices of bread into the toaster. "Breakfast?" He asked, looking over his shoulder.

Sherlock hummed, engrossed in what he was reading, not looking up.

John put a few slices in for Sherlock too and pushed the lever, waiting while he was leaning against the counter. "I've been meaning to ask you…"

"She messaged me around midday."

John smiled. "I'll never know how you do that."

Sherlock smirked. "Another murder last night. Surely Lestrade hasn't gained the intellect to solve a murder all by himself. Why hasn't he given me the case?" Sherlock suddenly frowned, sipping his tea.

John shrugged. "Perhaps it's open and shut."

"Clearly not or there wouldn't have been a second."

After a short while, the toast popped out and John put two on each plate and buttered Sherlock's first. He smiled as he reached for the honey he had to rebuy that morning and began spreading it over the toast when suddenly he felt two arms being wrapped around his waist and a warm breath at his ear.

"You bought me honey." Sherlock swooned, kissing gently behind John's ear.

John chuckled. Sherlock was a hard man to please, at least _outside _the bedroom, but it was the one thing John knew would lift his spirits. "Just a little something."

Sherlock smiled and enveloped John's hands with his own, gently easing the knife out of his grip before spinning him around and giving him a gentle kiss.

"Mmm, Sherlock..." John mumbled through their lips. "We shouldn't."

"Why not?" He asked, now kissing down John's neck.

John thought for a moment, but he couldn't really give Sherlock an answer. At least not one that was coherent.

Sherlock chuckled and moved back, staring deeply into John's eyes as he grabbed both ends of the sheet he was wearing and opened it, revealing _everything_. "Why _not_?" He asked again, teasing.

John gulped hard. "Jesus Sherlock!" He gasped as his breath was knocked out of him. Sherlock moved closer and wrapped the sheet around John, kissing him again. John inhaled a deep breath, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's hips and grabbing his arse, intensifying the kiss by biting Sherlock's lower lip slightly.

"John, you're already hard." Sherlock panted, wrapping one hand at the nape of John's neck, the other on his hip and tilting his head for a better angle, but John's body had strangely become rigid.

"Sherlock."

"_John…"_

"_Sher_lock!"

Sherlock leaned back slightly and followed John's gaze to the wide mouthed man standing in the sitting room. He sighed. "Lestrade."

"I… You didn't answer your… I can come back…"

"No need." John smiled, looking back at Sherlock and kissing him quickly on the lips. "Cover yourself up." He whispered, stepping out of the sheet, wrapping it back around Sherlock and joining Lestrade in the sitting room.

Sherlock frowned and sat in his usual chair, crossing his arms. He didn't like the interruption, but he took amusement in the fact that John was sitting rather uncomfortably in his chair, trying to hide his erection.

"Now Sherlock, about this case…" Lestrade began.

"Double murder… _so far_. Same weapon, same bullet wound… and now you need my help."

"Yes, but there's something you should see. Unless… perhaps you have other things to do?"

"To… _do?" _He shot a glance at John, smirking as he saw a blush cross his features. "Certainly. But we will help, as always. I'll go and get changed." He said, standing up, Lestrade following suit. "Perhaps a shower, John?" He smiled.

"Right." Lestrade spoke after a moment, seeming flushed. "I'll send a car to take you to Scotland Yard. That should give you enough time to… right. I'll just… right." And with that he turned and left the flat.

John burst out laughing. "Really Sher, was that necessary?"

Sherlock began to laugh along with him. "Alright, I'll get changed. But we'll finish _this _later." He smiled, giving John a quick peck on the cheek before going to his room.

* * *

As John and Sherlock entered Lestrade's office, they found him sitting at his chair going through evidence. He looked up at them and gestured for them to sit down as John closed the door behind them.

Sherlock quickly looked around the room. "You've slept here about twice in a row." He mused out loud.

"Sherlock!" John whispered chidingly, but he continued.

"Did she kick you out? You aren't here willingly."

Lestrade stood from where he was sitting and pointed at Sherlock angrily. "Now look here, that's my bloody business, not yours. It might come as a surprise to you, but some people would like to keep certain things in their life _private _from others, got that? I brought you in on this case to save your arse…"

"What?" John asked, suddenly curious. Sherlock's eyebrow rose inquisitively.

Lestrade sorted through the bags of evidence and stopped at one, handing it to Sherlock. He picked up the bag and saw a small polaroid picture of him, walking along a busy London street and adjusting his glove.

"Must have been taken two days ago." Sherlock said, examining the photograph.

"No fingerprints." Lestrade frowned. "If it wasn't polaroid we could find where the photo was developed but…" He shrugged.

"Hmm." Sherlock hummed, putting the photo back down. "Victims?"

"Elinor Klemp, 42, husband, no children, worked in real estate." Lestrade replied, handing Sherlock two files. "And Megan Stollings, 23, lived with her mother and worked at Tesco."

Sherlock sat and read through them while John looked back at Lestrade, shocked. "Megan?" he asked.

Both Sherlock and Lestrade looked at John.

"You knew the victim?" Lestrade asked.

"Well, yes, sort of. I go to Tesco a lot and I've seen her there. She usually says hi." John's face slackened in sadness. "How did she die?"

"Bullet wound from the back of the head suggests through the mouth and into the brain." Sherlock stated matter-of-factly. "Both victims."

John flinched. "And the weapon?"

"Not recovered, but the bullet definitely is from the same gun. We found the bullet not too far from the body." Lestrade added. "Do you need a moment John?"

"No. No, I'm fine."

Sherlock looked over John, noticing that his hands were a little unsteady. "Where's the second photograph?" Sherlock asked, looking from John to Lestrade.

"It's being analysed at the moment for prints."

"I need to see it." Sherlock frowned.

Lestrade nodded and walked to the door, opening it and shouting, "Howard!" before leaning back and crossing his arms.

"Why didn't you tell me this sooner?" Sherlock frowned.

Lestrade sighed and put his hands into his pockets. "We didn't notice the photo until later when we examined the victim's clothes. It seemed like coincidence at first, it looked as if the first victim had seen you from a distance and took your photo. You have fans everywhere Sherlock." He shrugged. "But then, we found the second and I came straight to you."

Suddenly, a dishevelled young man came through the door and looked at Lestrade. "Yes sir?" He asked.

"Is the photograph recovered from Megan Stollings' body out of analysis yet?"

"No Sir." He replied, threading his fingers through his hair, pushing away the loose strands. "But it should be finished soon. Would you like me to check?"

"Yes, thank you."

"And perhaps some water for John." Sherlock called over his shoulder.

"Yes sir." He nodded and walked back out.

"He's new. Transferred from Wales." Lestrade smiled. "He's a good one. Doesn't cause as much trouble as Donovan did."

"Did?" John asked, incredulously. "You mean, you _fired _her?"

Lestrade quickly checked outside the door for eavesdroppers before closing the door and returning to his seat. "No. Although I would have liked to after all that bloody nonsense she put me through over Sherlock. Could have lost my job because of her. But no, she's on maternity leave."

Sherlock suddenly burst out in a fit of laughter, making John jump and Lestrade stare in puzzlement. "So the idiots are _breeding _now?"

John smiled at Lestrade and they all began to chuckle. "Shh, Sherlock. You don't know the child is Anderson's."

Sherlock smiled, raising an eyebrow.

John laughed.

Then, a knock at the door revealed the same man as before, holding an evidence bag and a cup of water. He smiled and handed the cup to John. "Here you go doctor."

John smiled up at him. "Thank you." He said, taking a sip.

After a moment, John realised the room was quiet. He looked over at Sherlock who was closely examining the young man, now putting the photo on the desk and turning to leave the room.

"Wait a second." Lestrade shouted, gesturing for him to come back. He turned around questioningly.

"I haven't introduced you yet. This is Kenneth Howard, he's working on the case too. Howard, this is Sherlock Holmes and his colleague Dr John Watson."

"Boyfriend." Sherlock corrected, shaking Howard's hand.

Howard's eyes widened slightly. "Oh." He smiled, turning to shake John's hand. "Pleasure to meet you both. I've heard a lot about you. Seen you in the papers and all that. Read the blog too."

John smiled and in realizing that they had shaken hands a bit too long, took the liberty of letting go.

"I better get back to work." Howard nodded at Lestrade, then turned and left the office.

"He's nice." John smiled.

"Hmmpf." Sherlock frowned, crossing his arms.

Lestrade sighed. "Sherlock, you had a problem with the last one and look how that turned out. Please _try _and be friendly."

Sherlock ignored him and took the photo off of Lestrade's desk, examining it, then grabbed the other photo and put them side by side.

As John looked, he saw the second photo was of Sherlock shopping at Tesco, with Megan as his cashier.

Looking between the photos, John realised something. "Why isn't the first victim in this photo then?" John pointed at the first photo.

A light bulb had illuminated in Sherlock's mind. "Of course!" Sherlock quickly opened the file on Mrs. Klemp and looked between the polaroid and the autopsy photo.

"That woman there." He pointed at the back of a figure with long brown hair. "That must be her, in the photograph."

John nodded, turning to Lestrade. "So, what, the murderer takes a picture of Sherlock and kills a person in the photograph? But why?"

Sherlock frowned in thought. "I'm not sure. I need to think."

Lestrade nodded and placed the evidence in a cardboard box before handing it to John. "Well go home and think about it, I have other cases to work on as well as this. Please, be careful. _Both _of you."

* * *

As they entered 221B later that day, Sherlock immediately sat in his chair and ushered John towards him, so John placed the box of evidence in front of him and turned back towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, sounding a little anxious.

"I'm just putting my coat up." John replied, taking it off.

"Hmm." Sherlock shook his head. "I can't be too sure which is the best idea. Staying away from you so you aren't targeted, or being with you at all times so I can keep an eye on you."

John smiled. "You're not getting rid of me that easy."

Sherlock chuckled. "I'd thought as much." After a short moment, he spoke again. "So the murderer is no older than 40. Statistically speaking it would be a male."

John returned and knelt in front of the box, taking out the photographs. "But why is the murderer putting pictures of you on the victim? I thought you didn't have any more enemies once Moriarty was dead."

"Anybody I've helped put behind bars could be an enemy John, not just a criminal mastermind." Sherlock replied, taking the photos from John's hand. "From the angle he's about 5 foot 9. Average…"

After a few silent moments of Sherlock shuffling through evidence, John stood up and moved towards the couch, grabbing his laptop in the process, realising he wasn't going to be much help. So he sat there, staring at the blog entry he still hadn't uploaded, watching the cursor blink. He didn't feel much like writing, especially with a murderer on the loose targeting Sherlock. Perhaps he finally knew what Sherlock felt all those years ago. But this was different; of course it was, because unlike Sherlock, he was helpless to stop it.

Sherlock's mind on the other hand was fixated on the evidence in front of him, trying to figure out a pattern. Each victim had a photo of him on their person. They also had the same bullet wound from their mouth through the brain. Whoever it was, was targeting him specifically, which didn't help Sherlock in the least because he had put dozens of people behind bars, most of them more than capable of…

"John." Sherlock spoke, standing from his chair.

John looked up and saw the nervous look on Sherlock's face. He quickly put the laptop beside him and stood also, standing next to Sherlock. "What is it?"

"How did I…?" He tried, shaking his head.

John gently touched Sherlock's arm. "What's wrong?"

Sherlock turned to John with wide eyes. He grabbed the files from the box and opened one of them, taking out the autopsy photo. "He put a gun in their _mouths _John."

John's face frowned in confusion.

"They both died the same way as Moriarty."

John's blood ran cold as he looked back down at the photo, then up at Sherlock. "But... Moriarty killed _himself_. Besides, who would want revenge for Moriarty's death? You said his gang were all gone?"

Sherlock's mind went into overdrive, sorting through every last person in Moriarty's web. He could never _miss _a thing like that. Suddenly, Sherlock's mind clicked things into place.

"I need to speak to Mycroft." He said, closing the files and walking out of the flat.

As John was grabbing his coat, he heard Sherlock shout from the bottom of the stairs.

"Alone."

And with that, the front door slammed shut.


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm sorry I've taken so long for the next chapter but I got a job! I'm now working at an advertising agency, but you don't need to know about that :P  
**  
**I'm going to try my hardest to keep working on this story because I love it and hopefully you guys still do too!**

**Did I tell you guys I love your support? Yes? Well I'll say it again, ILY!**

**Reviews are MUCH appreciated! Especially funny ones, I like funny! :P**

* * *

It was quiet and eerie as Sherlock walked through the main room of the Diogenes club. The smell of cigarette smoke wafting in the air, circling the heads of the elderly men sitting in their grand chairs in complete silence. He always thought the idea alone of the Diogenes club was preposterous. Rich, elderly and middle aged men crowding together and musing in absolute silence. The room reeked of arrogance. He passed a snickering old man and into Mycroft's personal study. He didn't knock.

"You didn't think it _wise_ to tell me exactly what you were warning me from?" Sherlock shouted, his fists clenched beside him. "Adler wasn't helping you get some_thing_, was she?"

Mycroft stood quickly and hushed Sherlock, closing the door and gesturing him to sit. Sherlock refused and stared at Mycroft in anger. "She was helping you get some_one. _You've put us both at risk by keeping this from us."

Mycroft turned and sat in a chair opposite Sherlock and rested his hands in his lap. "I assure you I have everything perfectly under control…"

"_No_." Sherlock growled between clenched teeth. "John could be at _risk_, can't you see that?"

Mycroft's jaw clenched. "Alright."

Sherlock calmed himself and took a deep breath before sitting opposite Mycroft.

"So I don't repeat anything, what do you know so far?" Mycroft asked.

"That we missed someone in the Moriarty ring, someone close to him, and now he's targeting me. Two victims have been murdered so far, shot through the mouth just like Moriarty and they both had photos on them of me."

Mycroft frowned in thought. "Those murders looked suspicious. But yes, your first statement was correct. I allowed Irene Adler back in England on the condition that she helped us find this man."

"How did you find out?"

"She had some information that she freely gave us… and then she gave us her conditions." Mycroft sighed. "I wouldn't have asked for her help, but she worked with Moriarty. People trust her with information."

"And has she been helpful?" Sherlock asked, smugly.

"Not at present, no. Although, she has been looking for him. I have people guarding her every move and they report to me on her progress."

"And?"

"We have a name." Mycroft stood and walked behind him to his desk so Sherlock stood and followed him, waiting beside him as Mycroft handed him a folder. "His name is Lucas Shaw, 36. Retired from the police force due to a gunshot wound in the leg. Recently he hasn't been on the side of the law, saying that Scotland Yard is to blame for his injuries."

Sherlock frowned. "_This _is him?" Sherlock briefly looked at the photo of the bearded and angry looking man, memorizing the face. "How tall is he?"

Mycroft looked over the file. "6 foot 3 inches."

Sherlock shook his head. "It can't be him. The photos were taken from a person of average height."

"Perhaps an accomplice? Or maybe he didn't take the picture from eye level."

Sherlock sighed and massaged his temples. All the new information on the murderer didn't fit into place. It was frustrating.

"Sherlock, we're doing our best to find him, believe me. I'll phone Lestrade and ask him to keep an eye out for him as well. It can't do any harm."

Sherlock looked at his brother curiously. _Ask? _He thought. Mycroft never asked anybody anything, he _told_ them_._ Sherlock nodded and moved back towards the door, but paused when he opened it.  
He turned his head slightly. "If anything happens to John…" He growled, turning his head further and glaring over at him with an intense gaze.

Mycroft nodded in understanding before Sherlock slammed the door behind him.

* * *

John was sitting in his chair with a cold cup of tea, nervously tapping his feet against the floor. It had been almost two hours since Sherlock had left and John was worried. What had he figured out? And most importantly, why didn't he tell John? He stood up and entered the kitchen, emptying his cup in the sink before filling the kettle and turning it on. He leaned against the bench and sighed.

"Do I get one?"

John jumped and turned around, his hand on his chest. "_Jesus _Sherlock! You frightened me!" After analysing Sherlock's expression, he frowned slightly. "Are you alright?"

Sherlock half smiled and grabbed his cup, placing it next to John's. He stood silent for a moment, thinking to himself. As he did, John reached behind Sherlock and rubbed along his back, soothing him as he closed his eyes in contentment.

When he opened them, he turned to John and wrapped his arms around him. "There is something I need to tell you, but we'll talk over tea." Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed, resting his forehead against John's, secretly worrying about what was to come. Why couldn't things just be simple?

John smiled. "Alright, go sit in your chair and I'll bring it in."

Sherlock's eyes opened and he stared blankly at John, which he understood immediately.

"On the couch then." He chuckled, to which Sherlock smiled and kissed John lightly before moving into the other room and sitting on the couch. He waited patiently until John came around the corner with two cups of tea, handing one to Sherlock and sitting down beside him.

"Out with it." John said, taking a sip of his tea.

Sherlock nodded and took a quick sip from his cup, placing it on the coffee table. "You are aware that while I was…" Sherlock stopped, trying to find the right word, "…_away,_that I got rid of the remaining members of Moriarty's gang, not only because they were criminals but because they were targeting those closest to me."

John nodded.

"Well…" Sherlock took a deep breath. "There seems to be another member, one that was never mentioned. He's the one that must be committing these murders."

"Wait, hang on. How do you know it's not just some raving lunatic? It could just be a crazy fan or…"

"No. Mycroft didn't come that morning to tell me Irene was back in London, I would have known instantly because of her message. He knew that. It was his roundabout way of telling me she was here for a specific reason, and that reason is us. He's been working with her to find him."

John gulped hard. So she was helping them? He suddenly felt cruel for being so blunt with her. Another thought rushed through his mind. "So, this man has been going around killing people you've been near as a warning? Is he going to try and kill you?" He asked, trying not to sound too panicked.

Sherlock reached over and grabbed John's hand, squeezing it slightly. "Mycroft's working on finding him. They already have a name, they're just searching now. Lestrade wasn't entirely on the wrong track with the photos. They each have a serial number on the back of them, so perhaps I can figure out where he bought the film at least…"

"No."

Sherlock's eyes widened in shock and confusion. "No?"

John abruptly pulled his hand away from Sherlock's grip. "There's a serial killer out to get you and you want to _chase _him?"

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "Well what do you propose I do? Just _sit _here? Besides, we chase criminals all the time."

"But they're after _you_! You'll get yourself _killed!_"

Sherlock stood and towered over John, frowning. "You're blowing this way out of proportion…"

"_I don't want to lose you again!_" John shouted finally, his eyes glassy with unbroken tears.

Sherlock saw a deep sadness in John's eyes, one that he hadn't seen for a long time and didn't want to see again. His face saddened as he reached out to touch John's cheek, to soothe him. "I understand what you're feeling John, I…"

But John pushed it away angrily and stormed up to his room, slamming the door behind him. So Sherlock sat on the couch, filled with concern and regret. He began to think over his original plan, every precaution he had to take and every specific step he was going to make to insure the safety of himself and his John.

* * *

It soon got dark and as John settled down, he went downstairs to find all the lights turned off, everything around him silent. He began walking to Sherlock's room, thinking he was there before he heard,

"I love you."

John stopped and turned around, finally seeing the dark figure curled up on the couch.

"That's what I was trying to tell you before. I know why you reacted the way you did." Sherlock looked up. "I don't want to lose you either."

John sighed and sat next to Sherlock, his hands fumbling in his lap. "I'm sorry I was so angry at you before. It's just…"

"You already know what it's like… with me gone." Sherlock finished.

John nodded and thought for a moment. "Let's make a deal. You can keep chasing this madman, but not without me beside you."

Sherlock smiled and gently brushed John's fingers with his own. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

John sighed with relief. "Good." He then pulled Sherlock to him and kissed him gently.

Sherlock was soothed by John's embrace and his lips on his own. He held John's face in his hands and kissed him softly before resting their foreheads together.

"There's just one thing…" Sherlock whispered.

John instantly froze. "What?"

"Mycroft is sending some men to watch over the flat."

John sat back. "What?!"

"Just two. They're mainly here for Mrs Hudson. They might target her too. They'll take either one of you wherever you need to go…"

"Why do I have the feeling you're leaving?" John asked sadly.

Sherlock tried to smile, but sighed. "I'm not leaving. I'm going to be working with Lestrade to catch this murderer and you'll be there with me, but for the meantime, the only time I leave this flat is if I'm helping Lestrade. The less contact with the outside world the better."

John nodded in understanding. "Because of the victims."

Sherlock nodded back and smirked. "Although, there's an upside to staying indoors more…" He chuckled, lightly leaving a trail of kisses down John's neck.

John sighed as his breathing sped, the air getting caught in his throat. "Sherlock…" He whispered.

Hearing John whisper his name always did things to him, but he stopped and kissed John again, laying them both down on the couch and holding him tight.

After a silent moment between the two, John finally said, "We'll be alright Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes. "I hope so John. If anything ever happened to you…"

But before he could finish, John silenced him with another kiss and they stayed that way for the majority of the night, holding and kissing each other because they both knew that the longer they stayed that way, the longer it was until they had to face what was to come.


	10. Chapter 10

**I'm sorry it took so long for the next chapter! You guys seriously keep me going on this, you're all amazing (have I told you that?). Well, here it is! Hope you like it and please, reviews are totally appreciated and read over and over and over again :P**

* * *

When they awoke on the couch the next morning, it was because of the sound of loudly thumping footsteps on the stairs.

John woke up with a start, the shock waking Sherlock as well as the door to their apartment suddenly slammed open.

"Good morning to the both of you." Mycroft smiled. He had two muscly men on either side of him wearing sunglasses and sharp looking suits.

John sat up and rubbed his eyes as Sherlock stood angrily in front of Mycroft. "You couldn't knock? There's someone out there trying to murder us and you storm in like _that_?"

Mycroft's smiled faded. "Apologies, dear brother. I had no intention of frightening you or Doctor Watson."

John sighed and shrugged. "It's fine. You're doing us a big favour in having your people stand guard for us."

"Ah." Mycroft's eyes widened. "Yes, speaking of that, this here to my right is Samuel and this to my left is Ted." The man on the right, who had short blonde hair, nodded and the man on the left looked at his watch. He was bald and had a scar on his neck, which made John a little nervous.

John stood and held out his hand to shake theirs, but neither made a move to reciprocate. "Right." John said quizzically.

Sherlock's stature changed suddenly, his back straightening and his chest pushed out. "Although you are here to protect us, I also require human _decency _from you both. Or do you take after my brother?"

"Orders sir." The man on the left said.

"Unless it is absolutely necessary, they are not permitted to touch either of you under any circumstances. I thought it best with the killer murdering anyone within close proximity." Mycroft said, turning left and then right. "You may shake Doctor Watson's hand if you like, but my brother is off limits if you both want to live."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat down on the couch.

"Yes sir." They both said in unison, holding out their hands. John shook them both and sat back down next to Sherlock.

"Wait, am I not allowed to touch you either?" John whispered to Sherlock.

Sherlock sighed, his eyes softening as he glanced over at John. "Of course you can, love. Like I said, we'll never leave each other's sight. Besides, we've been touching way before the murders began."

John could feel his cheeks getting warm, and he could tell he must have been blushing going by the look Sherlock was giving him.

"Right." Mycroft said, interrupting their private moment, "I must go. Any problems at all, just let me know."

"Thank you Mycroft." John smiled. Sherlock's jaw tightened. He didn't like John thanking his brother. It was partially his fault for being in this position in the first place.

"You are welcome. Well, cheerio." He waved, leaving the flat in an instant. John and Sherlock sat there looking up at both of the men before them in a silence that seemed to last forever.

"Orders." The bald man, Ted, whispered to John.

"I'm sorry?" John asked.

"We need your orders." He replied.

"Ah! Umm…" John thought for a moment. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock stood and nodded to both of them. "You may wait outside the flat, or just outside the door, whichever you prefer. When you see Mrs Hudson from downstairs leave the flat, go with her. She is not to be touched either, do you understand?"

"Yes sir." They nodded, leaving the flat and closing the door behind them.

"Well…" John spoke after a while, scratching his head. "This is going to be a long few weeks."

"I'm not so sure about that." Sherlock smiled, wrapping his arms around John. "I'm sure I can make them go _faster_."

John chuckled as Sherlock was leaving a light trail of kisses down his neck. "Alright, let's have breakfast."

It took another 24 hours before Lestrade called. When Sherlock hung up the phone, he glanced over at John who understood immediately.

"But you haven't left…" John sat, thinking.

Sherlock sighed. "Come on then."

They both met Ted outside, who had already called the car. "Samuel is sleeping sir. He had night watch."

"Thank you Ted." John smiled, entering the car as Sherlock opened the door for him. They got to Scotland Yard and were ushered into an interrogation room on the first floor, a precaution they also had to make.

Sherlock looked around and frowned. "Oh look John, we have an enclosure!" He remarked sarcastically.

"We're doing everything we can to keep people safe, Sherlock." Lestrade sighed, exasperated.

"I see. Why don't you bring Anderson in here? Haven't seen him in a while."

John tried very hard to suppress his laughter. One look at Lestrade's face and they both chuckled quietly.

"Alright, who is it?" Sherlock asked, opening the file on the table.

"Leonard Cable. Owner of London Letter Newspaper."

"He's rather old. I can't imagine how he and Sherlock would have crossed ways." John pondered.

Sherlock examined the autopsy photograph closely. "I'm not sure I've…" But before he could finish his sentence, Lestrade held out an evidence bag with the photo found on the body. It was of Sherlock walking down a beautiful mahogany room and the elderly man looking up at him from his chair with disgust.

"The Diogenes Club." Sherlock sighed. "Of course."

Lestrade looked back with confusion. "The… what?"

"The Diogenes Club. Club for elderly rich men to sit in silence." John explained.

They both looked at Sherlock, the gears ticking over in his head, when suddenly he had a realisation. "The book."

"What? What book?" John asked.

Sherlock took the photo from Lestrade and showed him. "Where would you say this photo was taken?"

"Um, I've only been there once or twice but… the hallway?"

"Precisely." Sherlock urged. "Nobody is allowed to enter the club without signing in."

"But surely he wouldn't be stupid enough to write his name down."

"Or brilliant enough. Either way we'll have his handwriting and someone would have seen the person who came in!" Sherlock beamed.

"Alright, let's go." John turned, but was held back by Sherlock.

"I can't."

"Oh." John realised. "But…"

"But you can." Lestrade offered.

"No." Sherlock growled. "Absolutely not. I will not leave him alone."

John was filled with a strange mixture of fear and lust after hearing Sherlock so overprotective. Still, Sherlock was right.

"I'll go with John and you wait here. Sound fair?"

Sherlock and John shared a glance and understood each other. "Alright." Sherlock gave in. "A moment?"

Lestrade nodded and left the room, leaving Sherlock and John staring at each other.

Sherlock moved closer, holding John's face in his hands and glancing between his eyes and his mouth. John shuddered at their proximity which set off Sherlock, making him push John against the wall and kiss him, biting his bottom lip gently. John moaned and threaded his fingers through Sherlock's curls, pulling him closer, puffing heavily.

When they finally stopped, Sherlock rested his forehead against John's and sighed. "Be very _very _careful. If something happens to you…"

"Stop. I'll be back as soon as I can." John smiled, stroking Sherlock's cheek.

They both moved back as the door to the interrogation room opened, but they would not lose eye contact.

Lestrade entered with Howard. "Look, I've been called to another scene, so you can either wait or let Howard take you."

"Another one?" John asked.

"I'm not sure." Lestrade shrugged. "But if it is, I need to be there."

Sherlock looked over at Howard and his eyes squinted in anger. "No."

"Sherlock, it'll be fine. The quicker we do this, the quicker I get back." John smiled, kissing his cheek. Sherlock didn't lose eye contact with Howard.

"I'll take good care of him Mr Holmes, I promise." Howard smiled half-heartedly, and who blamed him with the death stare Sherlock was giving him.

"John…" Sherlock turned, giving him a pleading look.

John sighed and gave him a quick peck on the lips before nudging his head towards the door. "Let's go." He urged Howard.

Sherlock watched them leave, sitting down as the door closed behind them. He glanced over the evidence and sighed.

* * *

"I just need to see the book…"

"And I have told you sir, that is impossible."

"Do you at least remember the man who came in after Sherlock Holmes?"

The old man frowned in thought and confusion. "No sir."

"But…if I could just see the book..." John growled angrily, his arms waving in the air.

"Perhaps we should go back to the yard and get a warrant?" Howard suggested. "Might take a while though…"

"No, I have a faster way." John frowned, taking his phone from his pocket and sending a message. It only took 2 minutes for Mycroft to appear.

"Ah, Doctor Watson, I understand you are in need of assistance." Mycroft smiled.

"Yes. There's been another murder, a member of your Diogenes club…"

"It's hardly _my _club Doctor, although I am flattered you think so. This murder, it was of Mr Cable, was it not?"

John raised an eyebrow in confusion. "How did…"

Howard took a step forward. "Look sir, I don't know who you are, but knowing of the victim's demise, without us mentioning it, makes you a suspect."

John turned to Howard. "Don't be ridiculous. This is Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's brother and a member of the British government. He probably deduced it."

"Actually," Mycroft began, interrupting the annoyed look they were giving each other, "I only guessed because he arrives precisely at 9 every morning. Except today."

"See?" John smiled. Howard seemed to calm down and he gave a brief nod.

"As I was saying, the photo on the body was taken from inside the Diogenes club…"

"So you need to see the sign-in book. I see." Mycroft nodded. "Frank, please show Doctor Watson here and his police friend the previous book."

The tired old man reached underneath his desk and pulled it out, placing it in front of John. He scanned through the last page and saw Sherlock's name written beautifully in cursive and directly below it scribbled 'James Moran'.

"Can I take a picture, please?" He asked the old man. He frowned, but nodded in agreement.

Howard glanced at the book from over John's shoulder. "James Moran?" He asked.

Mycroft glanced between the two men.

As John put his phone away, he turned to Mycroft and noticed he looked uncomfortable. "Are you alright?"

Mycroft nodded. "Yes doctor. I believe so, but this is a harder case than I am capable of solving. You should return to my brother at once."

John looked puzzled for a moment but tapped Howards arm and left the building, giving Mycroft a smile of thanks.

"That bloke's rather creepy." Howard said, putting on his seat belt.

John chuckled. "Yeah, he has that effect on people."

Howard laughed along and drove them both back to the Yard.

* * *

With one hand under his chin and the other tapping on the table, Sherlock waited anxiously for John to come back.  
When the door opened, he stood quickly, the chair scraping along the floor loudly.

"What's wrong with you?" Lestrade asked, closing the door behind him. Sherlock sighed and slumped back in his chair.

"Nothing." He grumbled, threading a hand through his hair.

"I'm sure John's fine. Howard's with him." Lestrade tried, sitting opposite Sherlock, but he rolled his eyes and sighed deeply.

"So, was it?" Sherlock asked.

"What? Oh right, the murder, no. Normal, everyday murder."

"Do you need assistance?" Sherlock asked, trying to hold back his smirk.

"No. Open and shut. His wife even confessed." Lestrade smiled.

"Hmm." Sherlock hummed, losing interest already.

The sound of distant laughter became increasingly louder, confusing Sherlock as John and Howard entered the room.

"…and then I said, 'you have the right to remain silent'! Oh man, he never called me again!" Howard laughed. John laughed along with him, but after turning to Sherlock he stopped suddenly.

"Sherlock?" He asked.

Sherlock frowned. "We're on a case! Do you really think it's the time to be telling jokes?" He turned to Howard. "Do you?"

Howard shrunk in shame. "No. I suppose not."

"Sherlock, give him a break." John said.

"Did you at least see the book?"

"Yes, here." John pushed the phone to Sherlock's chest and moved back, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

Sherlock looked at the screen and took a deep breath. "Coincidence." He mumbled to himself.

"Lestrade, search your records for a James Moran, anything you can find, and e-mail it to us. John." Sherlock said, holding out John's phone to him.

John looked up at him, then the phone, and snatched it, walking away. "Howard. Greg." He nodded to both of them, then walked towards the rear entrance. Ted was waiting for them by the car.

As they drove back home, John stared out the window as Sherlock stared at John.

"Have I done something to upset you?" Sherlock asked.

John sighed and shook his head. "Not now."

Sherlock turned away and stared at John through the window instead.

* * *

**Wow, there's been like hardly any sexy times. I'll have to change that...**


End file.
